Always be a first rate version of yourself
by caremkefo
Summary: ...and not a second rate version of someone else. Destiel AU. Castiel stands on the edge of a bridge, having made a decision that will surely send his soul straight to Hell. But surely Hell can't be any worse than the life he's living? He prays to God one last time, asking for forgiveness, when a voice calls out to him. Can Dean show him that his life is worth more than that?
1. Author's Note

**A(n updated) note from the author.**

**(Or perhaps that should be note****_s_****...)**

Anyway.

Firstly, I would like to assure you all that this is not one of those stories that gets forgotten about - I've completed the first draft, and will post each new chapter as I get to the point I think I can't improve it any further. While I may have already started posting another chaptered story, this was the first one I wrote, so I want it to be something I am proud of. For that reason the updates may be a bit slow, but I promise you they will come! Also, please keep that in mind if you like this story enough to leave a review! **[Edit: a large section is now being rewritten for various reasons, so there may be really long breaks in between updates - for this I apologise.]**

Secondly. I would like to acknowledge the fact that there is actually a one-shot on this very site that people may compare the first chapter of this story to. Yes, I have read it. No, I did not steal their idea. I came across it and read it only _after_ I had started jotting down ideas for this, so the fact that they use the same scenario is a coincidence. I say this because I know that lately there have been accusations of plagiarism (and sadly there always will be) so I just want to be absolutely clear and honest from the start.

Thirdly, I would just like to thank my lovely friend Corry who beta'd this for me, picking up on typos and very British words! (I decided to make my life difficult and use Americanisms when I am actually British, seeing as Supernatural is a very American show.) And whenever I was struggling, she would tweet me pictures of Misha to keep me going!

Fourthly (is that even a word?) the title is taken from a Judy Garland quote.

Fifthly, **triggers/warnings** - suicidal themes, physical abuse.

Thank you!


	2. Chapter 1

It was dark, it was cold, and Castiel wondered if there was a storm approaching, for the night air was damp, giving the wind a bitter bite. He pulled his over-sized beige trench coat tighter around him as he walked up the hill; he was so far out of town that there were no paths to walk on, so he stuck tightly to the left hand side of the road so he could be seen and easily avoided by any oncoming traffic.

He could hear the river rushing past him at the bottom of the embankment, and he slowly started to make his way across the bridge. Now he was here he wasn't feeling quite as confident as he'd been when he'd started walking up here. He let the small hold-all he'd been carrying drop to the ground, and a shiver ran up his spine as he carefully negotiated his way over the railing. At this late hour no-one should be passing by, and for that Castiel was relieved. Everyone should be safely at home, tucked up in their nice warm beds. How Castiel wished that was where he was right now.

* * *

_"You are a disgusting sinner, and I want you out of my house!"_

_"But father, where am I—"_

_"SILENCE!" his father bellowed, and Castiel flinched at the harshness of his tone. "I don't care where you go, just that you do not return to this house again until you are willing to seek the good Lord's forgiveness."_

_Castiel's elder brother, Michael, hovered at the doorway._

_"Father," he started._

_"Upstairs, Michael," their father cut him off. "Pray to God that your brother here sees the error of his ways and repents, before it is too late for him to do so." He turned to Castiel. "Pack your bags – take only that which you need and is yours, and do not return. You are no longer welcome here."_

* * *

What Castiel wouldn't give to be able to go home and slot back into his old life – but he couldn't. He couldn't change who he was, no matter how much he might wish to. Fresh tears began to fall as the enormity of his decision finally hit him.

This wind stung his cheeks where the cold air met with damp trails, but Castiel couldn't feel it – not really. It was nothing compared to his father's vicious attack on him. He allowed himself one final glance up at the heavens, as he prayed to a God who hated him.

"God, if you are listening," he choked through tears, "please look after my family – I know I shall never rejoice in your Kingdom, but please guide my brother, Michael, safely through his life. I am sorry I cannot find the strength within myself to change who I am, and I beg for your forgiveness." Castiel looked down at the river below, black under the night sky, oblivious to the black car that had just started driving across the bridge. "But I just can't go on alone any longer."

"Hey! Hey, you on the bridge! Hey!"

Castiel's hand involuntarily clenched tighter around the railing as he flinched in surprise. He turned to the stranger's voice, astonished at both that anyone else would be up here so late at night, and also that they would take the time to notice him.

"Hey, wait! Don't!" the man continued, as he got out of his car.

Castiel gripped the railing behind him tighter as he viewed the strange man who walked hesitantly up to him.

"I'm Dean," the man introduced himself.

Cas just looked at him, as if unsure of what to say.

"Uh, never mind. Can I..?" Dean trailed off, motioning closer to Castiel, who nodded after a moment's pause. Dean didn't fail to notice the way his knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on the railing, as if afraid Dean would grab his hand and prise it off. Not that the thought hadn't crossed his mind, but slowly does it.

"So, uh, you're a long way from town."

"So are you," Castiel replied.

Dean laughed emptily. "True." When he saw the man was waiting for more, he elaborated. "I was on my way home."

Castiel nodded at that.

"What about you? Can I offer you a lift home?"

The man shook his head.

"No? Okay, then."

They both stood in silence for a moment, Dean unsure of what to say next.

"You got a name?" he asked eventually.

"Cas..." The other man swallowed. "Castiel."

"Castiel? Strange name."

"My family is very religious."

"Oh, right. So it's some Biblical name, then?"

Now it was Castiel's turn to give an empty laugh. "Something like that, yes."

Dean pulled his collar up to keep the chill off. "Listen, it's getting cold up here..."

"Then go home – don't let me keep you."

"No, that's not what I..." Dean sighed. "Look, I'm not just gonna walk away from this. From _you_."

Castiel looked Dean in the eye for the first time, then, and Dean found himself temporarily lost in sea of blue. He knew he was staring, but he couldn't stop himself as he drowned in the young man's confused gaze.

"But you don't know me," was all Castiel said.

Dean hesitantly put a hand over Castiel's. "That's not how this works, Cas," he said gently. "I'm a part of this, now – I walk away, I might as well be the one to shove you off this bridge."

"Don't say that, Dean. You are not responsible for me."

"Well someone has to be." Dean immediately realised his mistake when Castiel turned away from him. His stomach clenched as he watched Castiel look down at the swirling river. "Look, uh, I'm not really good with the whole talking thing, I know that – but if you want to talk I can listen?" he pressed desperately.

Dean didn't know when the rain had started to fall, but when Castiel shivered he realised that the poor man's shirt must be soaked right through.

"Come on, Cas. Let me take you home."

"I haven't got a home to go to," Castiel admitted quietly; so quietly that Dean barely heard him. His hurt and broken expression hit Dean like a punch in the gut.

"You do now," he found himself saying, and he gave Castiel's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Let me take you home," he repeated.

Castiel stared at him as if unable to comprehend why Dean was being so nice to him, and it was all Dean could do to hold his gaze.

"That... would not be a good idea."

The smile that had slowly started to spread across Dean's face quickly disappeared. "Will I tell you what's a worse idea?"

Castiel looked at him.

"Dying," Dean said simply.

"That would be my choice to make, Dean."

"Take it from someone who knows what it's like to lose people you care about." Dean could feel tears pricking but he ignored them. "I won't believe there aren't people who'll miss you if you die here tonight."

Tears were falling down Castiel's cheeks. "Then there is nothing more I can say to you, Dean, for I have no-one. Not any more."

"You got me," Dean said gruffly, clenching a hand around Castiel's wrist. Dammit, he was going to save this guy's life if it killed him. "If I didn't care, I wouldn't be standing here freezing my ass off."

Castiel looked at him and Dean stared at him right back, unwilling and unable to look away. He must have seen something in Dean's eyes in which to believe, for he turned to climb back over the railing. Dean let go of the man's wrist so he could wrap an arm around his shivering waist instead to pull him over, but whether it was the sudden gust of wind that threw Castiel off balance or the wetness of the railing that caused him to lose his grip, Dean's hand clenched around air. It felt like time had stopped as he watched Castiel flail for a grip on something, _anything_ – but then the man was falling backwards with a scream into the choppy waters below.


	3. Chapter 2

Dean frantically scrambled down the dirty, grassy slope beside the bridge and barrelled his way along the edge of the river.

"Cas!" he yelled. "CASTIEL!"

He thought he could make out a figure in the water, but if he leapt in now he could get them both killed. He knew the river widened out up ahead, and the water wouldn't flow so fast there. If he could just keep up with Castiel as he was swept downstream, he'd have one chance to haul him out of the water. He shoved rogue branches out of his way as he leapt over exposed tree roots, and stumbled over several slippery rocks. The current was actually drawing a floundering Castiel nearer to the shore, so Dean waded into the shallows to make a grab for him.

"Come on, Cas," he grunted as he pulled the man ashore.

Collapsing on the shingle on the riverbank, he lay down beside Castiel to catch his breath.

"You alright?" he asked, looking over at the other man's motionless form. "Castiel?" he asked. "Shit!"

He scrambled onto his knees and rolled Castiel over onto his back to begin a cycle of compressions.

"Come on, man, don't make me kiss you," he grunted as he counted to fifteen. He checked Castiel's breathing: nothing. "Oh, fuck you."

Pinching Castiel's nose and tipping his head back, Dean exhaled twice into the other man's mouth. He paused to check if Castiel was breathing, and was rewarded by him choking in his ear. He rolled Castiel's rather limp form over onto his side as he wretched up water.

"Don't ever make me do that to you again," Dean complained, cupping Castiel's cheek with one hand as he looked at him. But he wasn't mad – he was smiling; the relief that Castiel was still alive was evident in the way his face lit up.

All Castiel could do was nod in agreement as he let Dean pull him to his feet.

Dean took one of Castiel's arms around his shoulders and wrapped an arm around Castiel's waist as he helped him back up to the car.

"That yours?" he asked, nodding at the small bag propped up against the railing.

"Yes," said Castiel. Everything he owned, save for the clothes on his back, was in that small hold-all.

"Alright, get in."

Dean helped Castiel get in the passenger seat and tried not to think about wet seats. He tossed Castiel's bag in the trunk, wondering how someone could end up with only a small bag of belongings to their name.

Out of habit he hit play on the cassette player as he drove off, before realising how rude it was. He was about to reach over and switch it off when he realised Castiel was absently drumming his fingers in time to the music.

"You like AC/DC?" he asked, surprised.

"I have never heard this before," Castiel admitted. "It's rather loud."

"I can switch it off," Dean said, stretching a hand across.

"No!" cried Castiel a little too quickly, grabbing Dean's hand in midair. He blushed, and pulled his hand away. "You don't have to do that – I don't dislike it."

"You sure?"

"I would like to hear more."

Dean nodded, and flashed him an approving grin. "Okay, then." His legs were freezing, and he knew Castiel had to be as well, so he turned the heating up and reached behind him to grab the blanket off the back seat. Hoping it didn't smell too much of sex, he offered it to Castiel. "Here."

"Thank you," Castiel whispered, shivering as he cocooned himself in the blanket so only his head was visible.

Dean chuckled to himself, and focused his eyes ahead of him. He saved the guy's life from the river; the last thing he needed was to kill him on the road.

Forty minutes later they pulled up outside Dean's apartment. He turned to Castiel and placed a hand on his shoulder, aware of how Castiel tensed at his touch.

"Come on," he said gently. "Let's get you inside and warmed up."

Castiel stared down at his hands and nodded.

"I'll grab your stuff out of the trunk."

Dean was aware that Castiel stood beside the car door once he had shut it, somewhat unsure of himself. He slammed the trunk shut and jogged up the steps to the apartment block entrance. The key turned easily in the lock, and he pushed the door open. He held it for Castiel, who was hovering several steps behind.

"Dude – you're not planning on running, are you?"

"Running?" Castiel echoed.

"Yeah. Running away."

Castiel blinked. "Where would I g-go?" he asked, shivering, and he stepped past Dean and into the foyer without waiting for an answer.

"Up the stairs," Dean instructed, as he shut the door. "Third floor."

The walk upstairs was silent, except for the slight echo of footsteps that reverberated within the cold, concrete walls. Castiel found himself watching Dean as he followed him up the stairs – watching the way he moved. He could feel his own feet trudging along, his legs getting heavier with each step he took, but Dean didn't seem to tire the way most other people did after walking up so many stairs. After a brief struggle with his front door, Dean dropped Castiel's bag on the floor as soon as they were inside his apartment.

"Come on. I'll run you a warm bath. Don't want you getting hypothermia."

Castiel nodded absently, obediently following Dean down the hall to the bathroom where he stood, still clutching the blanket around his shoulders, as Dean filled the bath.

"You got a change of clothes in your bag?" he asked Castiel over his shoulder.

Castiel nodded at Dean's back.

Dean turned to him. "Cas?" he prompted.

"Yes."

"Okay. You get in and I'll go bring your bag."

When Castiel didn't answer, instead only looking at him, he took that silence to be agreement. As he picked up the tattered bag a small part of him was tempted to look inside; to see what few items Castiel possessed, but he knew that would be a breach of the trust Castiel had placed in him.

Or had he? Did he trust Dean, or had Dean just given him no other option?

He knocked on the bathroom door. "Cas?"

"Yes?"

"You in the bath yet?"

He heard the gentle sloshing of water as Castiel tentatively stepped into the bath tub and sat down, then, "Yes."

He slowly opened the door and stepped around it. Placing it beside the bath, he then pulled a towel out from the cupboard under the sink and draped it across the radiator.

Castiel eyed him carefully, his legs bent slightly at the knees.

"You don't say much, do you?" Dean commented.

"What would you like me to say?" Castiel asked.

"I don't know. Anything." Dean dropped the toilet lid and sat down, trying not to stare at the bruises that covered the other man's body.

"Are you going to watch me take a bath?" Castiel asked.

"I want to make sure you're alright. Last thing I want is for you to pass out and drown in my bath tub."

"I think one drowning is enough for tonight, don't you?" Cas asked softly, as he lay back in the tub.

"Cas, that isn't funny. You scared the shit out of me."

Cas blinked. "Why?"

"_Why_?" Dean repeated, his voice nearly a shout. "You were _dead_, Cas!"

"But why should that scare you? You don't know me."

Dean stared at him. "You're really asking me that?" When Castiel didn't answer, he continued. "Fuck... Cas, just because I don't know you doesn't mean I don't care if you die or not."

"My father knows me, and his only concern is whether or not I repent my sins before I die, not whether or not I actually die," Castiel said quietly.

"What?" Dean couldn't believe someone's father could be so callous. "Cas, I'm sure your father loves you—"

"He loved me. But then I disappointed him. Now he hates me. I... disgust him."

Dean noticed the way Castiel subconsciously fingered the bruises on his arm as he spoke, and swallowed. "That can't be right," Dean said, shaking his head.

"I think I know my own father, Dean."

"But what the hell could you do to make him hate you?"

Castiel said nothing.

"Cas?"

Castiel suddenly found the ingredients listed on the bottle of shower gel incredibly fascinating.

"Cas!" Dean said, a little too sharply, and he leaned forward.

Castiel jumped and sat up, dropping the bottle with a splash.

"Did your father give you those?" he asked gently.

Castiel looked down at himself, then drew his legs up to his chest so he could rest his chin on his knees.

"Sorry," Dean apologised.

Castiel shook his head. "It's alright. But yes."

Dean took a deep breath, judging Castiel carefully before he asked his next question. "Was your father the reason you were on the bridge?"

A knot suddenly twisted itself so tightly in Castiel's stomach that he thought he'd be sick, and he couldn't stop the pained expression that clouded his face.

Dean held his hands up and sat back. "Whoa, cool it there, it's alright – you don't have to tell me."

Castiel wished that if he pulled the plug right now, the water would carry him away. When he fell from the bridge he was scared, yes, and he fought to survive, but that was an instinctive reaction. He hadn't quite been prepared – Dean had turned up out of nowhere just as he'd been about to let go. But none of that meant that he didn't want to die anymore.

Tomorrow, perhaps, he'd have his chance. He had the feeling Dean wouldn't let him leave tonight – would insist on making sure he was 'okay' before he felt comfortable letting him go.

"Cas?"

He suddenly realised Dean was talking to him.

"Cas, buddy – are you okay?"

No. No, he wasn't. He'd intended on being dead by now, but Dean had deemed his life worth saving. He'd change his mind if he knew the truth about him, though – of that, Castiel was sure. So no, he was not 'okay'.

"Yes," he murmured. "Yes, I'm fine."

"You're shaking – if you're cold just add more hot water. I didn't make it too hot, 'cause I didn't want you to go into shock."

Castiel shook his head. "I'm fine."

Castiel lay back in the bath as Dean lapsed into silence. He counted the tiles on the ceiling, wondering briefly if that had been Dean's strange idea or if had been a previous tenant's, as he tried to divert his attention from the fact that Dean was trying not to stare at the bruises on his body. _Please don't ask about them again_, Castiel thought to himself. He really didn't want to talk about them. About anything.

Dean wasn't usually one for talking, but the silence in the room was unnervingly awkward. He kept shooting glances at Castiel, wanting to know exactly how badly hurt he was, but feeling weird for looking at a naked guy. He knew that if his brother had bruises that bad, he'd want to gank the son of a bitch who'd given him them. He couldn't quite understand why he felt so strongly about the strange man who now sat in his bath tub – maybe Castiel reminded him of Sam when he was younger – but there was an undeniable part of him that wanted to look out for him, to make sure he was okay. He wanted to press him for answers, wanted to understand what it was that had brought him to the bridge that night, but at the same time knew that if he pushed too hard too fast, the guy would run a mile.

It was rather pleasant lying there, Castiel supposed, providing he ignored the fact there was another person in the room. He closed his eyes as he realised he was no longer cold, letting himself enjoy the quiet, when Dean's voice startled him. Perhaps he'd been about to drift off.

"I'm going to call my brother, and then I'll turn the kettle on. Will you be okay?"

"Yes," Castiel nodded.

"Okay. You a coffee person?"

"Not really."

"I haven't got tea," he apologised. "I can't stand the stuff."

"I'm really not thirsty."

"It's not about being thirsty, Cas, it's about getting you warmed up." Dean stood, keeping his gaze directed firmly at the floor. "Erm... Oh! I've got some hot chocolate in the cupboard. Everyone loves hot chocolate," he muttered to himself as he left the room.

Castiel could hear Dean chattering to himself about where the hot chocolate actually _was_ as he entered the kitchen, and smiled in spite of himself.

Grabbing the bar of soap that sat on the edge of the bath he gave himself a quick scrub, aware that his skin was starting to wrinkle having spent so long submerged in water. Unsure of where Dean kept his shampoo, Castiel just ducked his head under the water and gave his hair a quick rub. At least that would get the worst of the dirt from the river out.

Satisfied that he was now as clean as he could be, he curled his toe around the chain and pulled the plug out. As he lay back, feeling the water level recede, he imagined that he was free; that his soul was floating up, up, and away – for a moment forgetting that he was going straight down to Hell when he died.

Once the water was gone he started to feel a little cold, so stepped out of the bath and wrapped himself in the towel that Dean had looked out for him, and it was pleasantly warm after having sat on the radiator for a good quarter of an hour. Crouching down beside his bag he gave the zip a sharp tug, and the damn thing got stuck. He gave it a yank, and a twist, but with a cry of frustration threw it away and collapsed to the floor, letting the tears flow down his cheeks.

He was pathetic. He couldn't be a normal person, he couldn't kill himself properly, and he couldn't even open his bloody bag! He didn't know where everything had gone so wrong; just that he couldn't do a damn think to fix it.

He still didn't really understand why this man was helping him – it's not like Castiel had _asked_ for his help. Sure, it was Christian thing to do, but Dean didn't really strike Castiel as the religious type – and no-one was ever that nice for nothing, were they? Castiel sighed. He'd barely even met the man and he was already trying to second-guess him.

If Dean wasn't ready to give up on him just yet, it would be rude to just throw his hands in the air and say 'I quit', so perhaps he should give him the benefit of the doubt, for now.

With a sudden bout of determination, he wrestled the zip of his bag free, breaking it in the process, and pulled out a fresh t-shirt and a rather ratty pair of old jeans. He stared at the broken zip. _Damn it!_ Now he needed a new bag, as well as some clothes, and a place to live, and... And he couldn't afford any one of the above, let alone _all_ of them. To hang with it – he'd worry about it tomorrow. He was too miserable to dwell on any more disappointment tonight.

In the kitchen Dean was pacing, waiting for Sam to pick up the phone. He hoped Jess wouldn't answer, because he really, really wasn't up for another fight about what a shit brother he was, and how Sam deserved better, and how he should be more grateful whenever Sam had to bail him out of yet another one of his messes.

He stopped pacing as there was a click on the other end. "Sam?" he asked.

"Dean."

Sam's voice was emotionless, so Dean took a deep breath before speaking. "Dude, I need money."

"Dean, we've had this conversation before," Sam said, his voice tired.

"This is different!"

"It's always 'different', Dean! I give you money and you drink it away. We buried our mom, and then we buried our dad – I'm not going to bury you, too."

"I'm not asking you to, Sammy!" Dean could almost hear Sam flinch at the other end.

"Don't 'Sammy' me, Dean! Jess and I have talked about this—"

"What's this got to do with her? We're _brothers_, Sam – I am asking for your help!"

"You're always asking for my help, Dean. She's my girlfriend, and this affects her as much as it does me. And don't roll your eyes at me!"

Dean looked at the phone in his hand. "I'm not," he lied.

"Whatever. So what's the story this time, hmm? No, wait, let me guess – you're short on either your rent, or your electric bill. Which is it?"

"Neither."

"The car?"

"No, she's fine," Dean said, a hint of pride in his voice.

"Then what is it?"

"I've got a friend staying with me for a while – indefinitely. I need a bit of extra money for food."

"You don't have _friends_, Dean – all you have is people that you owe money to."

"And you."

"And me."

"Then _help_ me!" Dean was sure Sam was close to giving in, but there was a pause before Sam spoke again and Dean could swear Jess was telling Sam not to back down. Bitch.

Sam sighed. "This friend..."

"Cas. Well, Castiel."

"Castiel? What sort of a name is that?"

"_His_ name, Sam."

"Dean, is this even a real friend?"

"Son of a bitch!" Dean exclaimed in frustration. "Are you calling me a liar, Sam?"

"No, but you're not exactly the most honest of people, Dean: I've represented criminals less dishonest than you."

"Screw you, Sam!"

"I thought you wanted my help?"

Dean screwed his face up as he tried not to blow it. Castiel was unfortunate enough to walk into the room at that moment. "Talk to my brother, Cas," he snapped angrily.

Castiel, startled, grabbed the phone thrust at him without thinking. He hesitantly raised it to his ear, and asked, "Hello?"

"Hi. Castiel?"

"Yes?"

"I'm Sam, Dean's brother. You're a friend of his?"

Dean, listening, started nodding frantically.

"I, eh, yes," Castiel said, brow furrowed in confusion.

"You don't sound sure," Sam prompted.

"I – no, we're friends. Yes, we're friends."

Dean covered his face with his hands, shaking his head. Stupid, _stupid_ idea.

Castiel tapped him lightly on the arm and held the phone out to him. "He wants to speak to you."

Dean grabbed the phone a little too roughly, and Castiel backed away. "Yeah?" he said gruffly.

"Is this some random guy you've paid to pretend to be your friend?"

"If I could afford to pay a guy to pretend to be my friend so that I could get money from you to spend on drink, don't you think I'd be spending _that_ on drink instead?"

"I had to ask, Dean."

"So? Are you gonna help me out or not? It's not like you'll miss a few hundred bucks."

"That's not the point, Dean––"

"Sam!"

Sam sighed. "I'll transfer the money into your account tomorrow."

"_Thank_ _you_, Sam."

"But so help me, Dean, if I find out this is just some bullshit scam—"

"It isn't."

"—I'm cutting you off. You hear me? You'll lose this number, and I won't have a brother."

"I hear you." Dean swallowed thickly. He didn't think Sam meant it, not really – but he didn't know what he'd do without Sam. Hell, he didn't want to have to _think_ about what he'd do without Sam. "Thank you."

"Goodbye, Dean. Unless there was something else you wanted?" Sam almost sounded hopeful.

"No, that was it."

"Text me and let me know you get the money okay." Sam's voice was emotionless again, and Dean knew he was being unfair on his brother, but he just didn't know how to make things right.

"Thanks, Sam. I owe you one."

"You owe me a lot more than that, Dean," Sam said, and hung up.

Dean had stormed around the kitchen, banging drawers and doors as he'd made a coffee for himself and a hot chocolate for Castiel, and Castiel had done his best to stay quietly out of his way, passing him things that he's absently put down only to need again five seconds later.

"You and your brother do not seem to be very close," Castiel observed, as he took a delicate sip of his hot chocolate. "I'm sorry," he said, as he noticed the slump in Dean's shoulders. "I should not have said anything."

"No, it's alright." Dean sighed. "You're right."

Castiel waited. People who wanted to talk didn't need much prompting.

"Sammy and me... We used to be as close as two brothers could get, you know?"

Castiel shook his head.

"Oh. You an only child?"

"No."

"You got a sister?"

"No, a brother."

"But you said—"

"We are not close."

"Oh. That's too bad. Me and Sam..." Dean swallowed. "Well, shit happened. Things changed."

Realising Dean didn't want to say any more, Castiel didn't press the matter. "I'm sorry," he said.

"'S fine, Cas."

The two sat and finished their drinks in peace.

"You keep calling me Cas," Castiel broke the silence.

Dean looked at him. "Sorry – would you prefer it if I called you Castiel? Just it's a bit of a mouthful, you know."

"No, it's not that, I just... Why?"

Dean shrugged. "Why not? When we were kids I called my brother Sammy. Hell, still did, right up until..." Dean trailed off. "Anyway."

"Cas is fine," Castiel assured him. "It's nice, actually – sometimes I feel that Castiel sounds too... I don't know... stuck-up, for want of a better word. My father told me to stop being so stupid, and vain, and accept and be grateful for the name he and my mother gave me. So I've always been 'Castiel'."

"Man, I can't believe no-one's ever shortened it before."

"I was home-schooled at a child," Castiel explained. "My father worried that should I enter mainstream education I may forget the teachings of our Lord and dabble in sin, tempted as Eve was by the serpent, so I never had any friends growing up. It was just my father, myself, and my brother – and my uncle and his sons on the weekend. I suppose that's why I don't always know how to react around people, and can sometimes say or do the wrong thing. It makes things difficult, I find, and can often lead to misunderstandings."

"You never had any friends?" Dean asked in disbelief. "Not one?"

"Where would I meet them?" Castiel replied. "We lived in a small town, where there were not many children. In fact, none of the children there went to the state school in the neighbouring town – we were all home-schooled. There was only myself and my brother, our cousins, and a strange young girl whom rebelled against our ways and was ostracised from the church, so we could not even meet any new people at Sunday school."

"You went to Sunday school?"

"Every week, until we were old enough to attend the main church service," Castiel replied. "And then our father would expand on what we had learned that afternoon."

"Man, and I thought it was bad being dragged to church at Easter and Christmas," dean exclaimed.

"You only went to church twice a year?" Castiel asked, shocked.

"Cas, if I could have gotten away with it, I'd have gone _zero_ times a year."

Dean made a big deal out of yawning at that point, eager to avoid a fire and brimstone lecture about his soul was damned. Castiel didn't know jack shit about his soul. He carried their empty mugs through to the kitchen, and Castiel could hear him bumbling around. He took the opportunity to examine his surroundings. Looking around him, it was obvious that Dean didn't care a lot for his apartment everything was plain, simple, and functional. There was no clutter, no decoration. In fact, there were no 'homely' touches at all. A single photograph sat atop the mantelpiece, but it was lying face down. A quick check assured him that Dean wasn't coming back in the next few seconds, and he quickly crossed the room and picked it up. A rather handsome man stood with his arms around a beautiful woman, who was cradling a newborn baby in to her chest, and their young son. Judging by the young boy's green eyes, Castiel would guess that the young boy was Dean.

As Dean's footsteps approached the living room, Castiel placed the photo back on the mantle and sat back down. To Dean, it would look as if he hadn't moved. He looked up as Dean came back in, arms laden with blankets and pillows.

"It gets cold in here at nights," he explained, as he tossed the blankets on the sofa. "This thing pulls out as a sofa-bed – I'm just sorry I haven't got a proper bed for you to crash in."

"That's fine," Castiel said. "I wasn't really expecting—"

"There's no way I'm throwing you out onto the street, Cas – so just don't even start, okay?"

Castiel nodded, and shot Dean a small smile. "Here – I'll do that."

"You sure?" Dean asked, as Castiel took the blankets from him.

"Yes. Don't worry about me."

Dean looked at him.

"I can manage, Dean."

Dean held his hands up in surrender. "Okay, well, my room's down the corridor just past the bathroom if you need anything. You know where the kitchen is if you get hungry – not that there's much in the cupboards, but I'm sure you'll be able to find something."

Castiel shook his head. "Right now, all I want to do is sleep."

"Well, alright then. I'll see you in the morning. 'Night, Cas."

"Good night, Dean," Castiel whispered to the empty room, once Dean had left him alone.


	4. Chapter 3

Castiel stretched out beneath the covers, before remembering where he was. He sat up quickly, to see Dean glancing up at him over the sports section of the morning paper.

"Good afternoon," he joked.

Castiel turned to look at the clock, shocked to see that it was quarter past eleven. "I am so sorry," he apologised, hurriedly grabbing at his clothes from the night before. "You should have woken me."

"No, it looked like you needed the sleep," Dean said, looking back down at the football scores from the night before. "I've only got the morning off work, so I'll be leaving shortly after lunch," he grumbled. "Unless..." He looked back up again. "Are you going to be okay here on your own?"

"I should really be going," he said, his sleep-addled brain still trying to digest everything that Dean had just said to him

"Going where?" Dean asked. "You said it yourself, you've got nowhere _to_ go. Stay here. At least until you get yourself sorted out."

Castiel's blood ran cold. His father had wanted to 'sort him out' and now this stranger, who had barged into his life last night, thought he could do the same? How _dare_ he? How dare they both? Just because he wasn't made like other people didn't them the right to walk all over him.

"I do not need to be _sorted out_, as you so delicately put it," Castiel spat defensively.

Dean looked up at him, eyes wide in surprise at Castiel's sudden and unexpected outburst.

"You think that you have some sort of hold over me, because you saved my life? Just because I tried to—" Castiel closed his eyes and took a breath. "My problems are none of your concern," he stated, much more calmly this time. "Thank you for taking care of me last night, but I shan't impose upon your hospitality any further."

Dean tossed the paper on the carpet and strode across the room, and Castiel took an involuntary step back as he got closer. Two firm hands gripped his shoulders as green eyes stared into his.

"Now you listen to me, Castiel – I don't know who you are, and I don't know where you've come from, but I am offering you a roof over your head and a bed, of sorts, to sleep in – are you really going to walk away from that?"

Castiel didn't know what to say, but Dean didn't really give him a chance to answer, anyway.

"And besides," he went on, dropping his hands to his sides, "when I said about getting you sorted out, I meant a place to live. I told you last night, I'm not really great with the whole talking thing."

"Oh," Castiel breathed, as he realised what a complete idiot he'd just been, jumping to conclusions about the man who'd been nothing but kind to him. "I'm so sorry, Dean, I didn't mean to be rude, I just—"

"Hey, it's ok. You don't need to apologise for standing up for yourself."

"I'm just so used to people – well, my father – telling me what to do," Castiel admitted.

"Well you don't have to answer to your father any more, Cas. And you _certainly_ don't have to explain yourself to me."

Castiel looked at him, the picture of concern and sincerity, and green... His eyes were so green... He screamed at himself internally to stop staring as he fought to make his mouth work. "You're really alright if I stay here?" he asked, aware that Dean had started looking at him like he'd grown a second head the longer he'd stared at him.

Dean raised his eyebrows. He hadn't been expecting Castiel to give in quite so easily.

Castiel suddenly worried that the invitation didn't stand any longer seeing as he'd just insulted the man in his front room and was about to apologise again when Dean spoke.

"Yeah," Dean said. "Oh, and Sam's money came through – he keeps his promises, I'll give him that – so I thought we'd hit the supermarket at the weekend. As much as I hate shopping, I hate being hungry even more. You in?"

"It's not really my place, is it?" Castiel asked slowly.

"You're living here now, aren't you?"

"Well, yes," Castiel said, still gathering his things together, because clearly it was the answer Dean was expecting. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"My coat – I don't remember seeing it last night."

"Eh, yeah," Dean mumbled. I kind of lost it when I was pulling you out of the river."

From the look on Castiel's face it looked as though Dean had just told him he'd run over his dog.

"We'll get you another one, and you can borrow one of mine in the mean time if you want to go anywhere. Sam always gives me twice as much as he says he will – I think it's 'cause he expects me to drink it away, and he wants me to have some let over for the important things. It doesn't matter what he says – he's always got my back." Dean knew he sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Castiel, but the truth was it didn't matter how often he lectured Dean about money and drinking and whatever else, he'd never threatened to cut him off before – and the thought of losing Sam terrified Dean more than he would care to admit. "So yeah, we'll get you a new coat, and not that I was looking or anything, but you could probably use some new t-shits as well. Honestly, dude, those threads are not cool."

Castiel shook his head. "Dean, I can't let you do that – your brother gave _you_ that money, not me."

"But how I spend it's up to me."

"No, Dean. I won't let you do that."

"Cas—"

"No, Dean," Castiel repeated firmly. I am indebted to you enough for your generous hospitality – I do not wish to be any further in your debt."

"Dude, I'm not asking you to pay me back – I just want to make sure you'll be aright."

"Nevertheless, Dean, I cannot allow you to waste your brother's money on me, when he meant for it to be yours."

"Fine!" Dean held his hands up in surrender. "If you want to be doing laundry in the sink every other night, be my guest. But I've got to go get some lunch sorted – you hungry?"

Castiel's stomach chose to speak up at that moment, and he nodded.

"Sandwiches okay?" Dean yelled from the kitchen. "You'd be struggling for much else."

"Whatever you're having will be fine with me," Castiel called back, not really caring what he ate so long as he ate _something_.

Lunch (or in Castiel's case, breakfast as well) was a silent affair. Castiel would barely look at Dean, and every time Dean opened his mouth to say something he'd close it again without saying a word. He just didn't know how to broach the subject of Castiel's suicide attempt last night. Could it even be called an attempt if he fell? The intention was there to jump, but maybe he wouldn't have been able to go through with it?

Dean sighed, and blue eyes glanced up and back down again so quickly he thought he'd imagined it.

With Sam it was easy – neither were really the talking type, so they just found a way to deal with whatever it was through actions rather than words. Even if those actions meant avoiding the problem altogether...

Maybe he'd ask Bobby. Maybe. At any rate, when he got back from work tonight he was going to talk to Cas.

* * *

Later that afternoon Dean was lying on his back underneath a silver Audi and wondering why he couldn't seem to get Castiel out of his head. The past few years he'd pretty much just kept himself to himself, so why he had suddenly offered his couch to some random guy who had more problems bottled up inside him than even Dean himself did he had no idea. Dean had always looked out for Sam when they were growing up – it's not like he raised him, for their dad was always around in varying states of inebriation – but he had certainly taken care of him. If he was being honest ever since things had become difficult between him and Sam he'd just kind of let life pass him by. Maybe he just missed having someone to look after, which was just freaking selfish given the way Sam turned out. His sighed. Castiel wasn't his responsibility. _Shouldn't_ _be_ his responsibility. And yet... He just couldn't let the guy leave without anyone or anywhere to go to. For all he knew, Cas was just some con guy looking for his latest target – and Dean had given him a key to the place and left him home alone. He tightened his grip on the wrench he was using. If he got home and his TV and stereo had gone... He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Cas didn't seem like the type. And he had honest eyes. And getting those bruises must have hurt like crazy—

"You plannin' on stayin' here all night, boy?"

"Huh?" Dean looked at his watch. "Shit, sorry Bobby. Kind of lost track of time there."

"Yeah, yeah. Get goin' before I have to start paying you overtime!"

Dean grinned at Bobby, who shook his head and muttered, "_Idjit_" under his breath, but Dean knew the corners of his mouth would be turning up.

But as it turned out, Dean didn't have to worry about coming home to finding half his possessions gone. But there was _something_ missing as he walked through his front door and stepped on a key that must have been slipped under the door.

"Cas?" He flicked on the light switch in the living room. "Castiel?" he called, louder this time.

A quick check of the apartment revealed the place in darkness and Castiel nowhere to be seen. Though the TV and stereo were still there, Dean noted with a wry grin. Looks like he was right about the guy's eyes. He felt an odd pang of disappointment knowing that he'd never see the guy again, and knew he'd be checking the papers for weeks for any unidentified bodies that had been found. Poor guy. He really did hope everything would turn out okay for him.

There was no point in hanging out by himself and being miserable on a Friday night, he decided as he viewed the contents of the nearly-empty fridge, so he reheated some of the pie he'd bought at lunch, washed it down with a bottle of beer, and jumped in the shower before heading off down to Ellen's for the night. He figured he might manage to hustle a few games of pool first, and _then_ he would see about picking up a girl for the night – in his experience, the first female crowd were out to get drunk. It was the ones who came out later who were looking to get laid, so getting too drunk was not on the cards. He grabbed his keys and cast a last look around the place. All going well, he wouldn't see it until tomorrow.

As he trudged home at one o'clock in the morning he let out a bitter laugh which misted in the air in front of him. Well, it was certainly tomorrow, alright. He'd won a shitload of money off some college students and spent it all on beer, getting himself drunk to the point that no girl was going to take him home that night, and to top it all off Ellen had kept his keys claiming he was too drunk to drive.

"_Sam would have my head if I let you drive home in the state you're in, even if you made it there on one piece!_" was all she said before kicking him out after he'd refused her offer of a cab.

Dean was still a good twenty-five minutes from his place, but he could knock a few off if he cut through the park. If he'd been sober he'd never have done it, because the people who hung around there at that time of night were the type to gank you as soon as look at you; however the beer had left him feeling particularly brazen.

He was halfway through when even in his drunken state he was beginning to think taking a shortcut had been a bad idea when he noticed a figure on one of the benches. Slowing down, he considered turning back because this was a _really_ stupid idea. But he could see the gate, and home was only fifteen minutes from there to his bed. He sped up, intent on walking past really quickly, but his foot caught something and he went flying – a bag with a bust zip, he realised when he saw the contents spilling out onto the path. The guy on the bench hadn't moved, so Dean was about to go when he took a second look at the bag. There was nothing special about, except for the fact he'd put it in his trunk the night before.

"Cas?" he asked quietly, stepping closer to the man on the bench.

Middle of the night or not, Dean recognised the mess of dark hair that contrasted with his pale skin.

"Cas," he said again, moving to shake the guy's shoulder.

In a second Dean was flipped around and on the ground, a knee pressing painfully against his lower back. He couldn't help but think that it was embarrassing how easily he'd been overpowered, but told himself that if he'd been sober he'd have come out on top.

"I don't want any trouble," Cas growled in his ear. "And I have nothing of value, or else I wouldn't be sleeping on a park bench. Now be on your way."

"Cas..." Dean choked out, and breathed a sigh of relief when the knee eased up slightly.

"Dean?" Castiel asked cautiously.

"Dude, I still got an empty couch – _why_ are you sleeping on a park bench?"

He got to his feet when Castiel moved away, and brushed himself off. When he turned, Castiel was right in front of him, staring into his eyes.

"Uh, Cas?" he said, slightly nervously. "Personal space, man – ever heard of it?"

"Why do you keep helping me?" he asked, not moving from where he stood.

And when Dean tried to step back, he found he was prevented from doing so by two hands gripping his elbows tightly.

"I have nothing to offer you, so why?" he asked again.

Dean shrugged. "It's the right thing to do?" he asked.

"You don't even know."

"No," Dean agreed, and when Castiel released him he bent to pick up his bag. "Come on, let's get you home," he sighed.

Fingers brushed against his as Castiel moved to take his bag from Dean, and Dean let him; also draping his own jacket around Castiel when he shivered.

"Thank you," Castiel said quietly.

"Don't worry about it," Dean replied, and when Castiel stumbled he grabbed him around the waist to hold him up. He didn't take his arm away once Castiel had righted himself, but felt oddly reassured by the way Cas seemed to lean into him.

When they got back to Dean's apartment, however, it was Castiel carrying Dean through the front door – and straight down the corridor to the bathroom where he promptly threw up down the toilet.

"You're drunk," Castiel stated.

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Do you do this often? Or only when your houseguests leave?"

"Only most nights." When Dean turned back to the toilet and started retching Castiel rubbed a soothing hand on his back. "Man, I feel hot."

Castiel said nothing and moved away, but a moment later a cool wet flannel was pressed to the back of Dean's neck.

"Perhaps you shouldn't have drunk so much," Castiel suggested in concern.

"Cas, you need to lighten up. We'll go out tomorrow, have a good time."

"Dean, I don't think that's—"

"I'm not taking no for an answer." He saw Castiel's disapproving expression. "Look, I promise I won't drink. Much. You shouldn't have to sit here with me, anyway. I'm not a pretty sight right now." He leant back over the toilet and retched once again.

Castiel slid his had down Dean's back and rubbed him gently once again. "You offered me a place to stay when I had nowhere. You offered your support when I had no-one else—"

"Alright, alright – don't turn this into a freaking chick flick moment," Dean protested, but the corner of his mouth had risen in a smirk.

"This is the least I could do after all you've done for me, Dean. Do you need anything else?"

"Right now death would feel good," Dean groaned without thinking.

Castiel's hand stilled.

Dean turned to him. "Shit, Cas, I'm sorry – I didn't mean to make light of what happened with you or anything—"

"That's alright, Dean. But I think, if you do not require anything further, I shall retire for the night."

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry."

"Good night, Dean."

"'Night. But Cas – tomorrow night, yeah?"

"Perhaps," he conceded reluctantly.

"First round's on me."


	5. Chapter 4

**I'm so sorry this took so long! ****(Does anyone even read apologies from the author?)** I really struggled to rewrite this to the point that I felt happy enough with it to publish it because what started out as a scene became a whole chapter to itself, and my beta has been been so busy with college that she still hasn't had a chance to check it so any mistakes you find will be mine!

* * *

Dean's eyes were still half shut when he got in the shower the next morning. (He could call it that – there was still ten minutes before it officially became 'afternoon'.) He'd woken up at nine and promptly gone back to sleep without another thought, but as the warm water helped clear away the cobwebs in his brain he was suddenly hit with the memory of finding Castiel again last night. He jumped out of the shower and gave himself a quick rub down, wrapping the towel around his waist before he sprayed his underarms with a quick burst of deodorant. The sound of the TV greeted him as he walked into the living room.

"_The parents of a seventeen-year-old school girl are asking her to come home. Samina Abdul hasn't been seen since she left for school yesterday morning – though she never arrived there. It wasn't until she didn't come home that night and that her parents found out and raised the alarm. A note left behind indicated her intention to meet up with an online boyfriend, who parents say had been at the centre of several recent family arguments._"

"I half expected you to have done a disappearing act by the time I got up," Dean grinned.

Castiel looked up at Dean. "The thought had crossed my mind," he admitted, his eyes darting over Dean's body as he shuffled awkwardly in his seat.

Dean's grin faded. "So what stopped you?"

"I don't know," Castiel replied, switching the TV off. "No-one has been this kind to me in a long time, so maybe that has something to do with it."

Dean sat down, droplets of water dripping from his still-wet hair. Most fell onto his shoulders and down his muscled chest, but some ran down his freckled cheeks like tears. He figured if Castiel kept busy, maybe he could forget whatever it was that was getting him down – even just for a few hours – because he knew he sucked at the whole talking thing, and distraction used to work great (some of the time) with Sam.

"I hope you don't mind that I put the TV on," Castiel said, running a hand up and down his arm as Dean watched him. "I've never had the opportunity to watch it much, before."

"No, it's cool, Cas. Whatever you want. Treat this place like your home."

"Thank you, Dean. I'll do my best not to be too much of an inconvenience."

"Dude, it's fine. Really."

Castiel held his tongue, for the last thing he wanted to do was start an argument and annoy Dean. He didn't know him, so he wasn't sure how quickly he might change his mind and ask Castiel to leave, so he figured that the better behaved he was the longer he might have a roof over his head.

"So you got any plans for today?" Dean, sweeping a hand through his hair to brush it back.

Castiel looked at him blankly, his neutral expression disguising the fact that he thought that was a really stupid question to ask someone who had intended to jump off a bridge two nights ago. "No, no plans," he said, thinking _unless you're still thinking about taking me out_, because he dearly hoped Dean had forgotten about his drunken offer. "What about you? Do you have work today?"

"No, not today," Dean said. "And no plans until later tonight."

_Crap_. "I don't want you to feel that you have to spend your entire weekend with me," Castiel said hurriedly. "If you have friends or family that you'd like to see, then please, don't let me stop you."

"You mean you don't want me to babysit you all the time?"

"I... Well... Yes, I suppose. Though I hadn't thought of it _quite_ like that."

"Well, no friends and no family – at least that I'm on speaking terms with – so it's just you and me."

Castiel's shoulders slumped slightly, and Dean noticed. A hand subconsciously moved to rub the back of his neck. Of course Castiel was disappointed – just because he thought Dean was kind didn't mean he wanted to spend all day hanging out with Dean. Or all weekend. "Well, I mean, if you want to do whatever by yourself I've got some stuff I could do, I'm sure, and—"

"I'm sorry," Castiel said suddenly.

"What?"

"That you have no-one."

"Oh."

"I know how alone that can make you feel."

"Well, yeah, I guess, but I usually try to keep myself busy."

"Or drunk," Castiel said, somewhere between being a question and being teasing, like a child testing his boundaries. Something told him that last night hadn't been a one-off.

"Or drunk," Dean echoed, chuckling.

Castiel relaxed then, safe in the knowledge that Dean wasn't upset by his comment.

"What did you do yesterday, anyway?" Dean asked him.

Castiel shrugged. "I just sort of... walked around."

"'Walked around'?"

"Yes," Castiel admitted.

There was an awkward silence as neither looked at the other, until Dean said, "Look, I meant what I said yesterday."

Castiel looked at him.

"You've got nowhere to go, I've got an empty couch..." Dean trailed off. "Just... _think_ about it, okay? It's not a marriage proposal – just a roof over your head."

Castiel managed a smile at that, but then his face fell as a thought occurred to him. "But I have no money, so I can't—"

"Don't sweat it, Cas – it'll be fine."

"I don't want you to have to rely on your brother to—"

"I don't rely on my brother, Cas!" Dean protested.

"No, I don't mean it like that." Castiel said quickly. "I just meant that I want to be able to pay my own way, without you having to borrow money from your brother so you can afford to keep me."

"Jesus Christ, Cas, you're not a _pet_!" Dean laughed.

"I know, I didn't mean—"

"You don't mean a lot of things you say," Dean grinned.

"Everything I try to say comes out wrong!" Castiel exclaimed in frustration, burying his head in his hands.

"Cas, Cas – I get it," Dean said with a smile, not wanting Cas to get all worked up. "Don't worry. But I'll figure something out. _We'll_ figure it out," he amended when Castiel opened his mouth to protest.

Dean took it as agreement when Castiel nodded. There were so many things he wanted to ask, but he wasn't good with words and he didn't want to insult him. An awkward silence fell between the two of them as he tried to find the right thing to say.

"Cas," he started hesitantly. "Can I just ask..."

Castiel looked at him, waiting expectantly.

"You don't have to answer, but, when did your dad kick you out?"

Castiel was surprised. He'd expected Dean to ask _why_; what he'd done that was so dreadful his father had disowned him. And for Dean to inevitably revoke his invitation.

"I mean, how many nights have you risked your neck by sleeping on park benches?"

"A few weeks ago," he said. "Maybe a month?"

"A _month_?" Dean echoed in shock. "Cas, _please_ tell me you've had a roof over your head in that time."

"Sometimes. Sometimes I'd manage to get a bed in a homeless shelter, but other nights I'd be sleeping rough on benches or in shop doorways."

Dean looked simultaneously angry, horrified, and sympathetic. "Castiel," he said sadly, "don't you have any friends that would have helped you out?"

"None that I could turn to," he admitted carefully. Dean was getting perilously close to asking _why_.

"I know me and Sam have had out difference over the years, but we've always been there for each other," Dean said. "I can't believe that none of your friends would help you out."

"I brought my situation on myself, Dean."

"Bull. They should still _help_ you!"

"Dean, _please_. Just let it go," Castiel pleaded.

Dean frowned, wanting to know why Castiel had been turned away; why no-one who knew him would help him. But the desperation in Castiel's eyes made him bite his tongue – for now – and he let the matter drop.

"Go shower, Cas. Shave. Get dressed, then we'll go out and grab some lunch."

Castiel automatically moved to follow Dean's instructions, but then paused in the doorway. Dean was not his father – here he was allowed to question.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Cas?"

"Could we just have lunch here?" he asked hesitantly.

"If you want," Dean said. "I just thought you might like to go out. Do something, you know?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know," Dean admitted. "I was going to think about that when you were in the shower."

"Okay."

"I mean, if you want to stay in it's no big deal!" Dean hurried to reassure him.

"How about we have lunch here, and then we could go out for a bit?" Castiel asked, seeking a compromise. "How does that sound?"

"Like a plan," Dean grinned. "I'll see what I've got in the cupboards – there's not much, but I should be able to scrape something together that'll survive the cooking process."

"Survive?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "I'm not the best of cooks."

"Well you might want to start by putting some clothes on first," Castiel noted, his gaze travelling down to where the towel rested just below Dean's navel.

"Yeah, else you'll cop an eyeful if this drops!" Dean laughed, and Castiel flushed. "Alright, alright. But clean razors and stuff is in the wall cabinet, okay?"

Castiel averted his gaze from Dean as he stood up to leave and nodded. Either Dean was a gift from God – a gift he didn't deserve – or more likely he was temptation from the Devil.

* * *

The water was warm when Castiel stepped under it, and it made a pleasant change from trying to wash up in a café restroom (or not at all). When the tears ran down his cheeks – tears of shame, of relief, and of fear – he stuck his face under the spray, letting them mix with the water until he could almost convince himself that he wasn't crying. He ran the bar of soap over his skin, hating himself for the bruises he wore.

He thought of Dean: of his fear when he found Cas on the bridge; of his concern when he found Cas on the bench; of his relief when he found Cas on his sofa. Maybe Dean really did want to help him – he seemed genuine enough, and he'd certainly been kind to him so far. He was trying to decide if he could trust Dean, and with how much, when he absently reached a soapy hand between his legs.

He dropped the bar of soap when his dick started to swell. "No," he said to himself, shutting the shower off. "No, no, no, no, no."

He stepped out of the shower and hurriedly dried himself off, then wrapped the damp towel round his waist. One hand wiped a streak through the steam on the mirror, just enough to see himself, and he studied his reflection for the first time in weeks.

He barely recognised the man he saw.

His hair was longer than it had ever been, and needed to be cut. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and he looked tired – but not the kind of tired that could be cured with a good night's sleep. He picked up the razor he'd looked out before he got in the shower, and ran a thumb over the blade. A thin line of blood oozed where it cut the skin, and Castiel thought how easy it would be to end it all there and then.

"Cas!" Dean's voice carried down the hall. "This'll be done in like two minutes!"

Castiel started, and the razor dropped into the sink with a dull _clank_.

"Cas?"

"I'll be five minutes!" he shouted back.

Shaking his head, he took the shaving gel and massaged it into his face and neck before giving himself the quickest shave he could. He looked much younger without the beard that had been building up since the last time he'd been able to shave, but it didn't make him look any less tired. He instinctively reached for the deodorant that sat out and it wasn't until he sprayed it and he thought it smelled different that he realised it was Dean's; his was still in his back in the living room, with his clean clothes.

"Yours'll be cold by the time you get in here!" Dean laughed as Cas hurried past the kitchen to the living room.

"I don't mind – I'll just be a minute."

He got dressed as quickly as he could and when he got to the kitchen he found that Dean was nearly finished. He sat down and looked at the... meal... that was on his plate.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked through a mouthful of food.

"Nothing!" Castiel said quickly, grabbing his fork. "It looks..."

"Like a dog ate it and threw it up on your plate?" Dean supplied. "Yeah, sorry about that. But I can promise you it tastes better than it looks."

"I thought you were going to say it tastes better than vomit," Castiel said quietly, and stared at Dean when he burst out laughing.

"That too!" he grinned.

Castiel smiled back at him, and took a bite. It was rather good, for whatever it was.

"It's supposed to be an omelette," Dean said, as if he could read Castiel's mind. "Don't ask me what's in it, though – I just threw in a few things that were sitting around."

Castiel's shoulders shook as he tried not to laugh.

"What?"

"For what looks like a culinary disaster, it tastes really good."

"Uh, thanks, I think."

"No, thank _you_."

Dean shoved the last of his lunch in his mouth.

"So what did you want to do this afternoon?"

Dean swallowed and reached for his orange juice. "I thought we could just go for a walk or something. I mean, it's free and all, so..."

"Okay."

"I know you said that you spent yesterday walking around, though, so if there's something else you want to do, then just say."

"No. I like walking."

"Okay."

Dean sat and watched Castiel finish his lunch – which wasn't weird or anything – and when he was done he reached for Castiel's plate.

"I've got that," he said, standing up before Castiel could protest. He dumped them in the sink and ran some water over them. "Right, I'm going to clean my teeth and take a piss and I'll be ready to go. What about you?"

"Same."

"Good."

When Dean left, Castiel moved to the sink and removed the dishes, pouring out the water and refilling the basin – this time with washing up liquid. It took no time at all to wash and dry the few dishes there were, and Dean came back just as he was hanging the damp dish towel over the radiator.

"Bathroom's all yours if— You didn't have to do that, Cas!"

"It's the least I could do," he shrugged.

Dean moved to put them away but stopped behind Castiel, who stiffened instinctively. Dean seemed to sniff the air around him.

"Wearing my deodorant already, I see!" Dean laughed. "Well it didn't take you long to make yourself at home."

Castiel relaxed slightly. Dean wasn't mad at him. "I'm sorry, I left mine in my bag."

"Don't worry about it. You'll get a toothbrush in the cabinet if you need one. You know, I usually just leave these," he added, motioning to the dishes.

Castiel watched him as he put the last of them away, paying attention to what went in which cupboard.

"You know, the quicker you go to the bathroom the quicker we can leave," Dean joked.

Castiel hurried down the corridor.

* * *

Less than five minutes later they were standing outside. It was warm, and Castiel was relieved for it meant that he didn't have to borrow a jacket from Dean. Not that there was anything wrong with his clothes, but he would have felt bad about it.

"Shit," Dean said, suddenly realising that his car wasn't parked outside his apartment, but rather outside the Roadhouse.

"What is it?" Castiel asked, immediately concerned.

"We've got to go get my car first."

"I thought we were going for a walk?"

"We are."

"Then why do we need your car?"

"Because we need to drive to where we're going to walk."

Castiel raised his eyebrows.

"Just... come on," Dean sighed, reluctantly walking off.

Not having any other choice at this point, Castiel followed him.

It was a good forty minute walk from the Roadhouse to his apartment (when he was drunk) so Dean was surprised to find that it was a good ten, maybe fifteen minutes shorter when he was sober and actually able to put one foot in front of the other without tripping himself up. They didn't talk much on the way, though Castiel made a comment about how nice the weather had been the past couple of weeks - something which he'd been grateful for when he found himself sleeping rough. The first time he'd slept in a shop doorway it had rained all night and another person looking for a place to sleep had beaten him until he'd vacated the step, and for the rest of the night he'd missed what little shelter it had offered (though he didn't tell Dean that part, of course).

When they reached the Roadhouse Dean turned to Castiel. "The Harvelles own this place. They're good people," he told him, and walked straight up to the door and hammered his fist on it. "Ellen! Jo! Keys!" he yelled.

Castiel waited beside Dean's car, and he thought the woman who answered the door - Ellen, he guessed, assuming that Joe was her husband - looked rather intimidating, even from across the parking lot. There appeared to be a heated exchange of words, and she glanced over at Castiel, who tried to make himself look as small as possible, before disappearing back inside and reappearing with Dean's keys.

"Get in," Dean said as he unlocked the car.

Castiel obediently climbed into the passenger's side.

Once they were out of the city Dean hit play on the cassette player.

"Do you mind?" he asked as a drumbeat started to fill the car.

"No," Castiel shook his head.

"Good. I hate driving in silence."

Castiel looked out the window at the scenery, reading all the signs they passed. He wondered where Dean knew where he was going, or if he was just going to stop somewhere that looked nice. He imagined that it would be nice to live like that – always on the move and see new things. He found the thrum of the engine reassuring, and he smiled whenever Dean started singing. He'd suddenly fall silent, as if self-conscious of his audience, but occasionally he'd just belt it out and grin. Castiel supposed it depended on the song. At the moment he was drumming his hands off the steering wheel and singing something about being wanted dead or alive. He really hoped Dean was a good driver, for he didn't look like he was paying that much attention to the road.

"Dead or alive. Dead or ali-i-ve! Dead or ali— Oh, shit." Dean suddenly stopped and hit the stop button.

Castiel's face fell. "It's alright."

"No, it's not."

"What do you think I'm going to do? Throw myself from the car just because you're singing a song?"

"No, but—"

"I was rather enjoying listening to you singing, actually."

Dean's cheeks reddened. "We're nearly there anyway," he said gruffly.

"Where's 'there'?"

"Here," he said, pulling into a small parking lot.

Castiel climbed out of the car as Dean went to feed the meter. Wherever they were, it was beside the sea – he could smell it in the air. After ensuring that the ticket was securely displayed on the dashboard, Dean clapped him on the shoulder.

"Come on!"

Castiel followed him as they made their way through the small town.

"They have a market," Castiel noted.

"Yeah, they do that about once a month or something. They sell a bunch of fruit and veg, home-made jams and shit..." Dean trailed off as he realised that Castiel had stopped to look at a second-hand book stall. He moved to stand behind him as he flicked through various paperbacks. "See anything you like?"

Castiel dropped the book immediately. "No."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You're a pretty shit liar, you know."

"Lying is a sin."

"Then I've got a one-way ticket downstairs," Dean commented. "What the hell were you looking at, anyway?" He picked it up and turned it over. "The Bible?"

"My father made me leave my copy at home. He said I didn't deserve it."

Dean looked from the book to Cas, and then over to the woman running the stall. "Hey, lady – how much for this?"

"Everything's three dollars," she said, pointing to the sign in front of him.

"Oh, yeah." He dug his hand in his pocket and dropped the coins in her hand.

"Do you want a bag to carry it in?" she asked.

"No, thank. I'll just go stick it in the car just now," he said to Cas. With a smirk, he added, "Don't disappear on me."

"Dean," Castiel started, but Dean was already jogging back to the car. He turned back to the books and amused himself until Dean returned.

"Still here I see!" he joked.

"You didn't need to do that, you know," Cas told him.

"I know. But I wanted to."

"I owe you enough, Dean."

"It was only three dollars."

"That's not the point."

Dean shook his head. "I'm not going to argue with you. I just wanted to do something nice."

Castiel immediately felt guilty. "Thank you," he said.

"Don't mention it."

Dean left Cas to look through the books and moved over to the DVD stall that was set up. A few things caught his eye, and he might have bought them if he didn't have Castiel staying with him now. Money-wise he'd be okay for now, but he wasn't so sure about in the long run. When Castiel started hovering around behind him, he figured Cas was ready to move on but was too damned polite to say anything. He walked away and led Castiel down a narrow side street, and Castiel's face lit up when they reached the beach.

"Dean, it's beautiful!"

"It's just some sand and water, dude," Dean shrugged.

"But look at the birds bobbing around on the water!"

"They're just gulls. They'll shit on you and steal your food when you're not looking." But nothing he said could wipe the grin from Castiel's face. "Have you ever been to the beach before?"

Castiel shook his head.

"What – _never_?"

"No. My father saw no point in frivolous excursions."

Dean grabbed his arm and positively dragged him onto the sand. "Come on – we're going to build sandcastles and jump in the waves and look for shells and whatever else it is that kids do on the beach."

"Dean, we are fully grown men, not children!" he protested, but nonetheless allowed Dean to lead him onto the sand and to the shoreline.

They walked along the shoreline for a bit, and Dean would periodically pick up pieces of shell and tell Castiel what they were.

"Limpet. Mussel. Cockle."

"What's this one?"

Dean looked over to see Castiel holding a long straight shell.

"Razor clam," he told him.

Castiel turned it over in his hands. "I like this one."

"So keep it."

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know. That's what some people do."

Castiel slipped it into his pocket.

Dean resumed his commentary of the shells they came across, more often than not just repeating names until Castiel joined in and it became a race to see who could name the shells first.

"I much prefer it here than in the city," Castiel told him.

"Yeah? I mean, I like it here, but I'd get bored. There's less to do."

"I suppose," Castiel conceded.

"But you were right," Dean said, giving Castiel a friendly nudge in the ribs and causing him to grimace in pain. "Shit, sorry dude! I forgot you were kind of sore—"

"It's alright, Dean," Castiel cut him off.

"No, it's not alright. Man, I'm sorry – I can be such a douche sometimes."

"Forget about it, Dean," Castiel said. "You were saying?"

"Oh, just that you were right about it being kind of beautiful, I guess."

Dean fell silent after that, but Castiel didn't want them to fall into an awkward silence. He liked it when Dean talked.

"You said you wanted to go in the water," he reminded him, bending over to untie his shoelaces.

Dean laughed, and kicked his shoes off with ease. "Race you!" he shouted, and set off when Castiel was still struggling with the knot of his other shoe.

Eventually Castiel got his shoes off, by which point Dean was nearly in the water. He gathered their shoes and socks and hurried after him.

"Just leave them on the sand and get in here!" Dean cried as he threw his jeans onto the sand.

Castiel hesitantly removed his trousers as well, but he took the time to fold them.

"Come on, Cas!"

"It's cold!" he gasped as he stepped into the water.

"Of course it i!" Dean laughed.

"I can't believe I'm doing this."

Dean grabbed his hand. "You're the one who wanted to!"

"I've changed my mind!" Cas laughed even though he was shivering.

"Just wait for a wave... Wait for it... Jump!"

"People are staring!"

"Let them stare, Cas. Here comes another."

They jumped again, and then Dean was pulling him further out.

"No. Dean!" he cried as Dean's sudden movement pulled him forwards. A wave hit him in the chest, knocking him off balance and his hand slipped from Dean's. He choked as the water went in his face and he closed his eyes instinctively. "Dean!" He moved in what he hoped was the direction of the beach, and was relieved when the water level around his waist receded.

"Cas!"

Castiel sank to his knees on the sand, small stones and pieces of broken shell digging into his knees but he didn't care as he coughed and tried to regain control of his breathing.

"Cas!" Dean crouched down beside him. "What happened, man? It was just a bit of water and you started freaking out."

Castiel shook his head, and Dean wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"I couldn't breathe."

"You're alright now," Dean said to him, rubbing a hand between his shoulder blades.

"When I fell from the bridge the water kept pulling me under and I couldn't breathe."

Dean wrapped his other arm around Castiel and held him close. As usual he fucked everything up. Sam always told him he needed to start thinking before he acted. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"It's not your fault."

"Yeah, it is. I dragged you further out. Cas, I don't even know if you can swim!"

Castiel nodded. "Not brilliantly, but I can stay afloat."

"Okay, so no more water," Dean said. "Check."

Dean rolled onto his back and stretched out on the sand, allowing the hot sun to dry him off, and Castiel did the same. He dug his feet into the hot sand and curled his toes, chuckling at the fact that just three days ago he'd never have considered doing something like this.

"I like having you around, Cas," he said suddenly. Clearing his throat, he adds, "I'm just saying."

"I like being around you," Castiel told him.

Dean turned to look at him.

"That came out wrong," Cas said.

Dean just laughed softly. "You know what? I really fancy some chips. You can't come to the beach and _not_ have fish 'n' chips."

"Dean, we've just had lunch."

"So? I can still eat some more," he said as he sat up and reached for his jeans.

Castiel ran his socks between his toes to get the worst of the sand out.

"Dude, I'd never have thought of doing that," Dean said, copying him.

They headed back the way they'd come once they were fully dressed again – though walking in damp boxers didn't rank highly on Castiel's list of things he'd like to do again! – and Castiel was surprised at just how far they'd walked.

"Oh, hey, let's go in here," Dean said suddenly, once they were back on the street.

'Here' was a small, free-entry aquarium in what used to be a coastguard station that consisted of two small rooms – one which held several tanks of fish, and the other which was the small shop. The took their time as they looked at the creatures in each tank; Dean enjoying their antics while Castiel studied the fact sheets about them like it was a school outing.

"What's your favourite kind of fish, Dean?" Castiel asked, once they'd looked in all the tanks in the room.

"You mean that's not deep-fried in batter?" Dean joked, but Castiel didn't find it funny. "I, uh, I guess the little nemos are kind of cute," he said, flushing slightly.

"The..." Castiel looked at the sign that had the species list on it, but didn't see any identified as 'nemos'. He looked at Dean. "The what?"

"The little orange ones," Dean pointed.

"The clownfish!" Castiel exclaimed. "I like them as well. But why did you call them nemos?"

"You've never seen..." Dean trailed off, remembering what Castiel had said to him this morning about not having seen much television, and figured that went for films as well. "It doesn't matter."

Castiel watched in delight as a crab sidled out from under a rock, and Dean thought to himself how easily pleased he was. He didn't know anything about Castiel's family, but the fact that Castiel had been denied simple pleasure such as TV and family trips to the beach when growing up – things that Dean had taken for granted as a kid – made him hate them.

"Come on," Dean said. "Let's see if we can catch ourselves a deep-fried fish."

This time Cas did smile.

They left the aquarium and walked towards the small café with a flashing neon sign in the window that appeared to read 'Fsh 'n' chips'.

"I wonder if they know their sign is damaged," Castiel wondered aloud.

"Hey, that reminds me of a joke," Dean said.

"About a broken sign?"

"No," Dean said. "What do you call a fish with no eyes?"

Castiel contemplated this for a moment. "Blind?" he asked.

Dean chuckled. "No – a fsh!"

But Castiel was still looking at him as if he was waiting for the punchline. "You know – eyes, the letter 'i'..."

"Oh," he said. "Oh!" His eyes widened, and Dean could pinpoint the exact moment he got it.

Castiel laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard, and Dean laughed at how hard Castiel was laughing. But then it hit him that that was just another example of how much he seemed to have missed out on growing up.

"What do you want?"

"Oh, I'm not hungry."

Dean didn't believe this for a second, so ordered a portion of fish 'n' chips to take away.

"Are you really going to eat all that?" Castiel asked when he saw the size of the fish.

"Nah," Dean said. "I won't have room for dinner otherwise. We'll share it."

"I told you I'm not really hungry, Dean. You could have just bought some chips for yourself."

"And I told you you're a terrible liar."

Twenty minutes later they were standing on the pier, burning their fingers on their freshly cooked supper.

"You know, we never built sandcastles," Dean said suddenly.

"That's quite alright, Dean. Unless you were looking forward to that?"

"No," Dean said, stuffing another couple of chips in his mouth. "But we'll need to remember to do that if we ever come back," he said as he chewed. "I swear, they do the best chips."

"I think the bird wants some," Castiel noted, looking down at the seagull in the water.

"Of course the gull wants some," Dean told him. "They'll eat _anything_."

Castiel tossed a chip down to it, which it gobbled down greedily.

"Don't feed it!" Dean cried as several gulls overhead started cawing, but it was too late – soon no fewer than twenty gulls were swimming around on the water beneath them, watching and waiting.

"Oops," Castiel said quietly, unable to hold back his guilty grin.

"Oops is right," Dean said. "Come on – let's get out of here."

The gulls all squawked their displeasure at not being fed as they binned the paper wrapper and walked back up to the car, wiping their greasy fingers on their t-shirts. Most of the stalls were being packed up, now, and Dean ran ahead to catch one guy.

"Hey. Hey! Hang on a minute!"

Castiel didn't hurry to catch up to Dean, and the guy clearly wasn't impressed with whatever Dean had said to him, but he turned and rummaged around in a couple of boxes before handing something to Dean.

"Thanks, mate," Dean said, giving him some money, but the man just grunted and continued packing his van.

"What did you—"

"Nuh-uh. You'll find out later," Dean said, hiding it behind his back. "It's a surprise."

* * *

_"I have a surprise for you, Castiel."_

_"Father?"_

_"Put a shirt on. Look smart."_

_"Yes, Father," Castiel replied in confusion._

_"Well don't just stand there!"_

_Castiel jumped, and immediately moved to his wardrobe._

_"Two minutes, Castiel. Be downstairs in two minutes."_

_His father shut the door shut behind him and Castiel pulled his t-shirt over his head. He had the shirt buttoned half-way up when he glanced in the mirror and realised that the short sleeves didn't quite cover the bruises on his arms from where his father had gripped him the day before and shaken him roughly. He swallowed, and shrugged the shirt off in favour of a long-sleeved one. He could roll the sleeves up and button them so they sat neatly, and they would still be longer enough to hide the purple fingerprints._

_"Castiel!" his father called as he reached the bottom of the stairs._

_"I'm here, Father," he replied._

_"Well come here, boy – I'd like you to meet Rachel."_

_So this was his Father's surprise – yet another blind date. "It's a pleasure to meet you," Castiel said politely._

_"You, too," she smiled._

_She was pretty – even Castiel could see that – and prettier than Hester, his father's last failed attempt at a set-up. As he fixed his false smile in place for the rest of the night, he could feel another little part of him die inside._

* * *

It seemed to take less time to get to Dean's than it did to get to the beach, but then again Castiel had been distracted on the way back.

"I'm going to go shower," Dean announced as they walked through the front door. "I think I've got sand in my ass." He walked down the corridor to the bathroom, one hand pulling at the ass of his jeans.

Castiel could quite honestly say that he had never met _anyone_ as brazen as Dean. And, he decided, he really needed to get out of his underwear because although common sense told him his boxers had dried out hours ago, the paranoid part of his brain was telling him that they felt like they were still holding half the ocean.

When Dean got out of the shower he wouldn't tell Castiel what it was that he'd bought, despite him asking several times.

"You'll find out once I bring the pizzas back," was all Dean would say. "And don't bother trying to cheat, because I'm taking it with me."

Castiel collapsed on the sofa as Dean left to get their dinner, and glanced at the Bible Dean had bought him. He reached out and rested his palm over the front cover, too afraid to open it. His father had told him he didn't deserve it, and his father was always right. He jerked his hand back suddenly like he'd been burned, and he snatched the newspaper up and turned to the crossword to take his mind off it.

He was halfway through when Dean returned – he didn't hear him come in because he was preoccupied trying to figure out what a six-letter word for an _African antelope_, but the smell of pizza interrupted his train of thought.

"One meat feat for me, and one Hawaiian for you, plus a side of garlic bread."

"What's an African antelope? Six letters."

"Impala," Dean answered immediately. "Why?"

"How did you know that?"

"I read," Dean shrugged. "Plus they've got the same name as my car, so, I guess I just remember these things."

"It fits," Castiel informed him while filling in the boxes.

Dean nodded to himself. "Good. Now put that down and I'll put the film on."

"Film?"

Dean took the disc out and tossed him the box.

"Finding Nemo," Castiel read as he examined the front cover with interest. "Dean, I believe this is a children's film."

"And?"

"And nothing. Is this what you bought today?"

"A-ha."

"It has a clown fish in it."

"It has two."

"This is why you called them nemos."

"Yeah," Dean said, sitting down next to him. "Now shut up and enjoy the film," he grinned.

Castiel gasped when Nemo's mother died along with the rest of her eggs, and Dean didn't think anything of it. But when Nemo was taken from his father Cas let out a choked sob. Dean closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the sofa. He was an idiot for not thinking about Cas's problems with his dad. A fucking idiot.

"Do you want me to switch it off?" he asked quietly.

Castiel shook his head as he reached for the box of tissues. "Just tell me it's all going to be okay."

Dean let out a low huff of laughter. "Cas, it's a kid's movie. They all have happy endings." He paused. "Except Bambi."

Castiel blew his nose. "Don't let me see that one."

"I won't." Dean swallowed. "If you ever meet my brother and tell him this I'll kill you, but the first time I saw Bambi I cried." He didn't know what had possessed him to tell Castiel that, for he classed that as one of his most embarrassing memories. He'd been drunk, so he'd put it down to the booze. And what had a kid's movie been doing on at three in the morning, anyway?

But Castiel just put a hand on Dean's knee and squeezed it gently in a silent promise.

* * *

"Well, what did you think?" Dean asked once the credits began to roll.

"I liked it," he said.

"Good," Dean said, gathering the pizza boxes. "I'll go toss these in the trash."

"What about the leftovers?"

"Oh, that'll be lunch tomorrow. Or breakfast."

Castiel had the sneaking suspicious that Dean wouldn't see breakfast, if this morning had been anything to go by. "Today was... really good," Castiel told him when he came back.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "I had more fun today than I've had in a long time."

"It was nice to forget, just for a little while."

"Good," Dean said, thinking that there was probably something more that he could say. "So much for going out tonight, eh?"

"This was a much preferable choice of evening, I think. But if you still want to go out, please, don't let me stop you."

"I might. Just for a quick drink."

"Alright," Castiel said as he began to make up his bed on the sofa.

"Are you going to sleep already?"

"I might watch some TV for a bit, if that's okay?"

"Sure. I guess this is your home, now, so treat it as such. But we'll go out another night though, yeah?"

"Maybe."

"Okay. Well I'll, uh, see you in the morning."

"Good night, Dean."

"Good night, Cas."

Castiel heard Dean as he brushed his teeth and grabbed his keys.

He heard Dean shout, "Bye!"

He heard Dean lock the door and run down the stairs. A minute later heard him drive away.

But though he stayed up for a couple of hours to watch some rubbish film on TV, he didn't hear Dean come back.


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: If anyone is wondering about if/when Dean and Cas will talk about Cas's problems, and the fact that he was about to jump off a bridge, they will once they get to know each other better. I know it's a very important conversation, and it _will_ happen.**

* * *

Dean groaned as he opened his eyes and was blinded by the light streaming through a gap in his curtains. It must be about two o'clock, he reasoned. As he trudged, bleary-eyed, towards the kitchen, he glanced at the clock that hung next to the front door, which proudly announced that the time was eleven forty-five.

"Fuck..." he groaned. It was too early after the night he'd had. What had her name been? Nikki? Natasha?

There was light coming from under the living room door, which meant that the curtains were open, which meant that Castiel was up. He opened the door.

"Cas, do you want some toast? I'm going to—"

He looked around the empty room.

"Shit."

He walked back down the corridor and tried the bathroom.

"Cas?" he asked, knocking lightly on the door, but it swung open and the bathroom was empty. Dean had expected that Castiel would still be there this morning, considering how well they'd gotten on the day before. Had he done something? Said something to offend him? He couldn't think of anything, but then he couldn't think of much at the moment. Maybe Cas just didn't like him. He trudged back to the kitchen for a caffeine hit, seriously contemplating going back to bed, when he saw the note taped to the coffee pot.

_Good morning, Dean!_

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

_I haven't left, if you were wondering. I've gone to church. (I'm not sure what it's called, but we drove past on the way to the beach yesterday. Perhaps you know the one?)_

Dean knew exactly which church to which Castiel was referring, and shook his head. It would have taken the guy well over an hour to get there on foot. He looked at the clock again, thinking about going to pick him up. What time would he get out? Scratch that – what time did church even start? He glanced back at the note.

_I expect the service shouldn't finish much later than half past twelve, so I should be back around lunch._

_Castiel_

Half twelve. Plenty of time for a bite to eat and a quick shower, he decided.

An hour later he was running late and doing a u-turn on the street, before telling a surprised Castiel to get in the car.

"Thank you, but I could have walked."

"I know," Dean said, flipping the bird to the irate driver behind him who was honking impatiently at him.

"So how was it?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Church – how was it?"

"Oh. Yes, it was good. They're organising a fundraiser to raise money for the local home for the elderly."

"Well that's nice of them, I suppose."

"You suppose?"

"Well, I don't make it a secret that I'm not religious. Don't they usually preach against drinking, gambling, and premarital sex? I mean, that's basically ninety percent of my personality. They don't want you to have any _fun_. And I haven't even started on the fact that some of them are child-abusing homophobes."

"I hope you're not going to tell me that's the other ten percent of your personality," Castiel said quietly.

"What? No! I like women, not—" Dean cut himself off and cast a sideways glance at Cas, noticing the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Did you just crack a joke?"

Castiel smiled tentatively, but it was only when Dean laughed that it became a fully-fledged grin.

Dean shook his head, still chuckling to himself. "Damn it, Cas. Don't look so serious when you're joking."

"My apologies."

"And quit apologising, man."

"Sorry."

"Aha," Dean grinned. "Caught you out there."

Castiel settled back in his seat and looked out of the window the rest of the way back to Dean's, absently tapping his feet along to the music that Dean put on to fill the silence.

When they got back to Dean's apartment they sat down in the living room to eat the leftover pizza from the night before.

"So did you have a good night?" Castiel asked.

"Yeah," Dean answered through a mouthful of crust.

"What did you do?" He was very interested to know exactly what kind of a man he was now living with for the time being.

Dean grinned. "Oh, you know – I drank, gambled and got laid! And she was legal," he added with a cheeky wink. He knew he was good in bed, but she'd certainly shown him a thing or two. Nancy? Natalie? He was sure her name began with an N. "Do you mind?" he asked, waving the remote at Cas.

"Not at all," Castiel said, picking up the crossword he'd abandoned the night before. He chewed absently on the top of a pencil as he puzzled over the clues, brow furrowed in concentration, as Dean settled down with a beer to watch the football game.

Sunday afternoon was a lazy one, and Castiel managed to finish the crossword puzzle in between Dean trying to explain the rules of football to him.

* * *

The next morning Cas awoke to a loud bang.

"Dean?" he called.

There was no answer. He lay there and listened, barely breathing as he concentrated on the smallest of noises, and a moment later he heard the sound of a car driving away. He recognised it as Dean's, or so he thought. Now that he was awake there was no reason to stay in bed, so he tossed back the covers and padded barefoot into the kitchen. The linoleum floor was cold, but he hardly noticed as he read the note that Dean had taped to the kettle.

_I'm at work. You're living here now, so treat this place like your own and I'll see you between 4 and 5._

– _D_

For a moment Castiel wondered how many times Dean was going to tell him the same thing – _make yourself at home_ – but then he realised that he was still tiptoeing around like he didn't belong here. He was conflicted, because he desperately wanted to believe that he could make a fresh start here, but on the other hand he'd never be able to start over so long as he was lying to Dean – and by not telling him the whole story he _was_ lying to him.

He shook those thoughts from his mind and dropped a couple of slices of bread in the toaster. If Dean wanted him to treat his apartment like his home, then he'd start by cleaning it. It wouldn't be enough to make up for everything Dean was doing for him, but it would be a start. And he didn't like living in the midst of such untidiness.

* * *

Dean took the stairs up for a change, eager to work off his irritability before he walked through the front door. Sometimes he wished he had Bobby's lack of tolerance for idiots – some jerk had brought their car in five minutes before closing and instead of Dean telling them to bring it back tomorrow he's agreed to 'take a quick look at it' there and then. Forty-five minutes later he'd finished the job and was billing the guy two hundred and forty bucks for parts and labour.

"Cas?" Dean called as walked through the door.

"In here!"

Dean followed the voice into the kitchen where Cas was slumped over the table, head rested on his crossed arms, hair even more mussed than usual. He looked around the spotless room and whistled.

"Wow, Cas. Did the house elves drop by?" he laughed as he grabbed a beer from the fridge.

"No," Castiel answered, looking around the room as if to check he hadn't left anything lying around. "Just me."

Dean raised an eyebrow at Castiel's serious response, but let it slide. "So apart from cleaning the kitchen what else did you do all day, anyway?"

Castiel gestured around the room.

"You spent all day cleaning the kitchen? Dude, you need a hobby!"

Castiel shrugged. "It needed to be cleaned."

"I'm not going to argue with you on that one, but you didn't have to do it."

"But now you don't have to do it."

"True, but Cas – I didn't ask you to stay so that you could clean, alright?" Dean hurried to assure him.

"I know. I just wanted to do something for you."

Dean just looked at Castiel, because it had been a long time since someone had done anything for him. "Come on, let's get dinner sorted," he said eventually, moving towards the food that Castiel had left out on the counter.

"They're all past it's sell by date," Castiel said.

"Really?" Dean asked in surprise. He checked a few tins and packets and pulled a face. "Yeah, okay." He started looking through a few cupboards. "Dude, did you go through _every_ cupboard?"

"Yes – they've all been thoroughly cleaned."

Dean nodded. "Everything's so... tidy."

"Oh, there was a mug in the back of a cupboard that was broken. It's by the sink."

"Broken?" Dean repeated,moving towards the sink. Castiel watched as Dean examined the destroyed mug and dumped it in the trash. "Why didn't you just put it in the bin?" Dean asked. "I mean, it's beyond repair."

Castiel looked at the table. "It's not mine to get rid of."

"I don't even know what's in half these cupboards. Some of it's mine, some of it's..." _Mom and Dad's_, he finished in his head. After the accident, he'd gutted the house and sold it, but had been unwilling to part with a lot of stuff so had moved it all into his small apartment. He should probably have a clear out. "A lot of this stuff could probably go, you know. It's just taking up room."

"You have three sets of kitchen scales," Castiel offered.

"Three?"

"Yes."

"I didn't even know I had one set – I never use them. Well, why don't you put two into that church thing you're doing?"

Castiel seemed to perk up at that. "Really?"

"Yeah," Dean said, knowing that the church sale thing would be the perfect distraction for Cas from whatever problems he had. "It would be better off with someone who was actually going to use half the stuff I've got lying around. Tell you what; anything I've got more than one of just look it out. I'll go through it, but I reckon you'll probably be able to take most of it."

"Dean, that's very generous. I'm sure the church will be grateful."

Dean waved him into silence. "I'm not doing it for the church, Cas."

"But even still... Thank you."

"I'm going to jump in the shower – do you want to get pizza tonight?"

"Again?"

"Chinese, then?"

Castiel nodded. They couldn't live off of takeout forever, but at the moment there wasn't that much in the cupboards.

* * *

Dean may have told him that he didn't have to clean the apartment, but Castiel threw himself into doing just that over the next couple of days.

When Dean came home on Tuesday, the living room had been dusted and vacuumed, and the stain on the carpet that had been hidden under a foot stool for several months had been scrubbed clean. Also, it turned out that the small table sitting beside one of the sofas that the phone sat on was actually a magazine rack, so a lot of the magazines that had been lying around had been neatly filed away.

Castiel had also managed to scrape together enough ingredients to make a spicy pasta sauce for dinner instead of takeout again, which Dean said was delicious but would have benefited from some chicken.

On Wednesday, the bathroom was practically gleaming, and Dean tripped over the cord that was trailing behind Cas as he vacuumed the corridor when he walked through the door.

Dean flicked the switch on the wall socket, and the machine whirred into silence. He watched as Castiel froze before hitting the power button on the machine twice, but nothing happened.

"Dude, enough," he said.

Castiel turned to him, and saw the plug swinging from Dean's hand.

"You can't keep doing this."

"I like keeping busy," Castiel insisted. "And I want to earn my keep."

"You're not my housekeeper, okay? Cleaning the kitchen was one thing, but the whole damned apartment? It's too much."

"What's wrong with wanting to help? You've helped me."

"Cas, you're a guest here. You don't have to clean up after me."

Castiel looked at him, with eyes slightly narrowed and his head tilted to the side in confusion.

"What?"

"Either I am a guest here, or I am to treat this as my home – which is it? Because I cannot be a guest in my own home."

Dean couldn't argue with that logic, so he dropped the plug and groaned loudly as he walked into the kitchen and sat down. He rubbed one hand across his face as he tried to figure out what to say. He looked up at Castiel, who was hovering in the doorway as if awaiting judgement.

"Sit down, man. You look like you're getting ready to run."

Castiel sat down obediently.

"Look," he sighed. "You want to do something to earn your way, then I don't have a problem with that."

"Good," Castiel said, standing. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to finish the hall before we eat anything."

"I haven't finished either, Cas."

Castiel sat down again.

* * *

_"I haven't finished, Castiel."_

_"Yes, Father," he said, dropping his gaze to his feet._

_"Not only are you going to withdraw from your college course until you are feeling better. It's probably for the best in the long run, anyway – I don't know why you even wanted to go in the first place. Twenty-four is too old to be going through a teenage rebellion phase. And anyway, college is probably where you developed your... condition."_

_His 'illness'. His 'condition'. His 'affliction'. All words his father had used to describe a part of who he was. He could feel the truth of it in his bones, no matter how much he wanted, or tried to deny it. But Castiel sat silently, listening to his father's every word and feeling the life being choked out of him with each one._

_"You are also going to resign from your job. The Potters are nice people and they would lose a lot of customers if your condition were to become public knowledge. Do you want them to go out of business? That shop has been in their family for three generations, boy."_

_"I know, Father." Castiel hung his head. "I'll hand in my resignation first thing in the morning."_

_"Good. I'm glad you're being so reasonable about this."_

_Castiel rubbed his arm absently, still sore from where his father had grabbed him the day before._

* * *

"Cas?"

Castiel looked up at him.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Yes."

"'Cause you don't have to do everything for me. I managed before you moved in."

Castiel nodded.

"But maybe you're right. Maybe you should be doing something to earn your way."

"I can try to find a job or something," Cas said quietly. "I don't have many skills, though."

"Sure. Great," Dean agreed. "But if you can't, it's not a problem."

They both fell silent for a moment.

"I enjoy cooking," Castiel offered eventually, when it was clear Dean didn't really know what to say next.

"Alright, then," Dean said, sitting back in his chair. "So how about you cook and keep the kitchen tidy, and we go week about cleaning the bathroom. Everything else you leave to me, okay? Sound fair?"

"Yes, Dean."

"Good." It was then that Dean noticed the boxes sitting in the corner that were filled with seemingly random stuff. "Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"What's all that stuff?"

Castiel looked over. "You asked me to look out everything you didn't really need and was just taking up space."

"Oh, yeah. Right. I'll take a look through it later."

He didn't, however – after dinner he just sat in front of the TV and introduced Castiel to Star Wars as he drank an entire six-pack of beer.


	7. Chapter 6

Dean glanced at his watch. It was nearly lunch time, and then he could get home. Thursdays were his favourite day, because he loved his work but he also loved having some time to relax, so getting to finish up at the yard at lunchtime was a good thing.

He slammed down the hood and wiped his hands off on his overalls. "Bobby, that's me done!" he announced as he dropped the keys back into the office.

"Good! Now get out of here!"

Dean grinned as he stepped out of his overalls. Bobby wasn't the tough nut he appeared to be. He flipped his phone open and called home as he walked over to his car.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Cas. That's me heading home now, okay?"

"You told me this morning that you would be finishing at this time and – I quote – 'pigs will fly before I leave so much as one minute later', so I am not entirely sure as to the purpose of this phone call."

Dean laughed. "I'll see you soon, Cas."

"Goodbye, Dean."

Castiel seemed happier, Dean had noticed. Well, maybe more _settled_ was the word. He supposed the fact that he had given him a place to stay would have helped a little, but he figured the church had probably had a lot to do with it. When your life was going to shit, it helped to have something else to focus on. He turned the key in the ignition and drove home.

* * *

When Dean had found that the cupboards were practically empty that morning, he'd bitten the bullet and announced that they would go shopping. But as he'd been about to leave he realised that Cas was in charge of the cooking, so should also be in charge of the groceries. So he'd told him to write a list of anything he thought they'd need (thinking it would give Cas something positive to focus on, and distract him from whatever it was that he was dealing with) and the rest they could just make up as they went along.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Castiel was reluctant to spend Dean's – or rather Dean's brother's – money, so when he got home the list consisted of milk, bread, and eggs.

"Really? The cupboards are empty and you think all we need is milk, eggs and bread?" Dean grinned, internally screaming because a short list meant more time wandering around looking for things, and more time spent wandering around meant Dean got more irritable because he _hated_ shopping.

Castiel shrugged. He hadn't wanted to seem greedy by writing out a full shopping list, especially when he wouldn't be the one paying for any of it, and he didn't know how long he'd be welcome to stay – especially once Dean found out the truth about him – but now he realised that perhaps he'd gone too far in the other direction by only writing down the bare essentials. "I didn't know what you liked," he said quietly. That was true enough.

"I guess you're right," Dean acknowledged. "Well, come on – let's go."

Dean drove around the parking lot three times as he waited for a woman to finish loading her bags into the trunk. It was right on the end, and far away from the shop door, so there was less chance of his baby being knocked about by idiot drivers.

At first Castiel tried to ask Dean what he liked, but when Dean had answered with burgers and beer Castiel exclaimed, "_You can't live off of burgers and beer_!" before apologising for telling Dean what he could and couldn't do, but insisting that he was only concerned for Dean's health. (He wasn't too impressed when Dean joked that he got his vegetables on pizza.) However, they quickly fell into a routine that involved Castiel seeing something and deciding what he could cook with it, and then asking Dean if it sounded like something he liked, or would like to try, eating, but the time they were halfway round the store the contents of the cart were probably five times what Dean would usually buy for himself.

"How much do we have to spend again?" Castiel asked for the fifth time.

"Enough, dude. Just get what you think we'll need to last us the month."

Castiel chewed on his bottom lip.

"You know, I don't even know what half this stuff is!" Dean joked, because Castiel was radiating tension you could cut with a knife. "When I said 'get whatever you want' I thought you might buy something I actually _recognise_ – fruit and veg, or something. You know, healthy stuff to improve my diet."

"This _will_ improve your diet. Anything is an improvement on the lack of one you already have," he said, before his eyes widened in shock at his cheek.

But Dean just laughed and slapped him on the back. "Well you're not wrong there."

Castiel tensed as Dean struck him, expecting pain that never came. "Besides," he added after a moment, wondering if perhaps Dean was a bad influence on him, "you don't need to know what it is. I'll cook it, you just need to eat it and tell me if you like it or not, so I know whether or not to make it again."

"Yeah, but I'm not going to ask you to become my little housewife, or anything," Dean frowned.

"Well, hardly," Castiel said. "For one, we are not married, and two, I'm a man."

"Cas, that's not— Never mind," Dean sighed. "Look, you don't have to take everything I say so literally all the time, okay?"

Castiel nodded absently. "I'm glad I'll get to cook for you. Well, for us." He turned to him, eyes wide and sincere. "I like having a way in which to repay your hospitality."

"If I'd let you carry on the way you were going I'd have felt guilty about using you as slave labour!" Dean told him jokingly. "It'll make a change from burgers, anyway – it's about the only goddamn thing I _can_ cook."

"Would kindly to not use the Lord's name in such a way?" Castiel asked. "At least not in my presence."

"Fine, fine! I'll just stand here and keep my mouth shut, while you spend all my brother's money on a load of groceries, half of which I have no idea what they are, so you can cook us up a bloody banquet and I—"

"I'm sorry," Castiel interrupted him hurriedly. "I didn't mean to upset you."

Dean exhaled, mentally berating himself for getting all worked up and worrying Cas. "I'm not upset, Cas. I just don't like shopping."

Castiel looked in the cart. "I could put some of this back if you think your brother's money isn't going to be enough. I do not wish to impose on you."

"For the hundredth time, you're not imposing," Dean insisted, slinging an arm around Castiel's shoulders and hating the way his immediate reaction as to tense up at his touch. If Dean ever met Castiel's dad, Dean couldn't promise that fists wouldn't fly. "And for the fiftieth time, buy whatever you want to cook. I _really_ don't want to have to come back here for at least— What the hell?" he asked, as Castiel suddenly dropped to the floor.

He looked up at Dean and pressed a finger desperately against his lips, motioning for him to stop staring at him. Dean shrugged, and pretended like he was suddenly very interested in – he looked at the shelf ticket – a butternut squash. After a moment he carelessly tossed back onto the pile (for Castiel had already added one to their shopping cart) and risked a glance down, to find Castiel was now peering over the trays of vegetables at a short blonde man who was selecting apples, with a basketful of chocolate and candy at his feet.

"Dude, what the hell?" he repeated in a whisper.

"My cousin," Castiel explained, gesturing in the direction of the man as he ducked back down again. _Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap..._

"And we're avoiding him because?"

"I do not know what, if anything, my father has told him."

"Riiight," Dean said, as if that explained why Castiel was crawling on the floor like a two-year-old.

"I do not want to get involved in a confrontation here – it would be embarrassing, for there are rather a lot of people here."

"And playing a one-man game of hide and seek isn't embarrassing?" Dean pointed out with a smile.

Castiel seemed to suddenly realise that other people were looking at him strangely, and when he looked up at Dean again his fear was obvious.

"And I... I cannot bear to see the look of crushing disappointment on his face if he knows the reason my father threw me out," Castiel said. Which was near enough the truth – if his cousin confronted him it _would_ be embarrassing, but there would then be no way to avoid Dean hearing everything and Castiel couldn't put into words how much he didn't want to end up on the street again.

Dean looked over at Castiel's cousin again, waiting until the man wasn't looking. "Ok, look, stand up and walk beside me – if he looks over it won't be obvious it's you, because he'll just see someone walking beside me."

Dean gripped Castiel's arm tightly and held him close as they continued up the shop and turned into the next aisle. Once they were out of sight of Castiel's cousin the other man visibly relaxed.

"Thank you, Dean. I am sorry if I embarrassed you back there."

Dean shrugged off his apology. "I've done a lot worse to embarrass myself, believe me. Just don't ask what."

Castiel smiled.

Eager to change the subject from his embarrassing misdemeanours, Dean motioned to the overflowing shopping cart. "Dude, we've barely been here twenty minutes, and I swear you've bought half the shop!" he laughed.

"Well there are two of us now, Dean." Castiel cast a sideways glance at him. "For the time being, at least."

"Okay, would you stop with that!" Dean exclaimed, a little too loudly.

Castiel flinched at the harshness in Dean's tone.

Dean placed a reassuring hand on Castiel's arm, and when the man didn't tense at his touch he spoke again. But this time he spoke more softly, in the voice he used to use when he was a kid and Sam was too scared to go back to sleep after having been woken by a nightmare. "I said you could stay as long as you wanted, Cas, and I meant it."

"Thank you. I know I've done nothing to deserve it, but I cannot adequately put into words how grateful I am for your kindness."

Dean scoffed and looked at his feet as he shuffled from side to side awkwardly, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. Every time Castiel thanked him he just felt embarrassed, but he didn't doubt that Castiel would soon see him for the fuck up he really was.

"Well, if you can cook half as well as it looks like you can, I may never let you leave!" he laughed.

* * *

The rest of the shopping trip was uneventful – unless you include the small child who ran around pulling things from the shelves and throwing them on the floor being chased by a rather harassed mother putting everything back on the shelves – and Dean was more than happy to let Castiel unpack the shopping once they got back while he switched on the TV to see how the football was going. It was ten minutes before Castiel reappeared, and dropped the latest edition of _Busty Asian Beauties_ in front of him, and Dean had the good grace to look abashed. Castiel sat down quietly beside him, not saying a word, but Dean knew he was itching to say something. After several moments of trying to concentrate on the game while seeing Castiel fidgeting out of the corner of his eye, Dean hit the mute button on the remote and turned to him.

"Spit it out, man, before you choke on it."

"Spit— What?"

"Whatever it is you're too damn polite to say."

Castiel's gaze dropped to the floor. "I would not presume to—"

"Spit. It. Out."

"Very well." Castiel squirmed uncomfortably. "I find those sorts of magazines to be highly disrespectful to women, and it pains me to see a good man such as yourself objectifying them in such a sexual manner."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Dude, it's a _porn_ mag. What do you expect?" He felt uncomfortable that Castiel had called him _a good man_, because Cas didn't know him at all.

"Still, I am uncomfortable with the idea of women being treated as objects for sexual gratification rather than as people."

"Okay, I see women as people," Dean started.

"How do you feel about women lusting after pictures of attractive, well-built men?" Castiel asked.

"I... Well... I mean..." Dean spluttered, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. He narrowed his eyes. "How attractive?"

"Exactly. The women in these magazines do not accurately portray the vast majority of women in society, leaving them with unreachable dreams of conforming to the stereotypical male fantasy of what is 'sexy'."

Dean's tried to process what Castiel had just said, but he got distracted by Castiel's obvious discomfort and awkwardness as he said _sexy_ – with air quotes. It was kind of hilarious.

"Look," he said eventually, "I know that most women don't look like that in real life – but at the end of the day, I just want something I can jerk off to."

Castiel closed his eyes and exhaled softly. His point had flown completely over the other man's head. Dean had said his brother was a lawyer, yes? So that meant Sam was intelligent, then – perhaps he'd been given Dean's share of the brains, and Dean had got the looks. But as soon as that notion entered his head, however, he berated himself for thinking such a thing.

"Come on – tell me you've never jerked off over a picture of a hot, half-naked chick!" Dean pressed him with a grin.

"I can honestly say that I have not."

"What – never?"

"Never."

"Dude..." Dean shook his head. "You don't know what you're missing."

Dean's attention flicked back to the television for a minute, just in time to see the wrong team score. He scowled and punched the arm of the sofa in frustration.

Castiel tried a different approach. "Dean. These women have mothers. Some, children – how would you feel if some stranger was 'jerking off' to a picture of your mother?"

Dean's face hardened, and fist slammed unto the table in front of him as he leaned for ward to Castiel.

Castiel recoiled, half expecting Dean to lash out at him; however he just glared at him. "I'm sorry," he apologised quickly. "That was inappropriate."

"Damn straight that was inappropriate," Dean growled. "Let's get one thing straight – you don't ever talk about my mother – ever, at all, period. You got that?"

Castiel nodded. "I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean rubbed a hand across his face, and cast a glance up to the picture lying on the mantle. He'd lost count of the number of different scenarios that he'd played in his mind, despite the fact he'd only been four at the time he still felt that he could have – _should_ have – done something more. He blinked back tears and looked back at Castiel, who was eyeing him warily, and Dean could have kicked himself. He leaned across and placed a reassuring hand on Castiel's arm, hating himself for the way he tensed at his touch.

"Well as long as we're clear on that," he said, his tone softer.

Castiel nodded.

"Look, I'm not saying it's perfect," he said, motioning to the magazine, "but it's better than nothing."

"But it would be better with someone else involved, yes?"

"Oh, yeah..." Dean grinned to himself for a moment, thinking about the girl he'd had in the back seat of his car the night he met Castiel. Then he shook his head. "Although it has to be said, it's not always great. Sometimes you can feel kind of... empty, after – you know?"

Castiel didn't. Although he had been warned about the 'sins of the flesh' and taught that such practices were wrong and sinful, Castiel _had_ indulged in the act of self-satisfaction; however while he had a more relaxed view of sex outside of marriage compared to what had been preached at his church – that so long as the two people in question were in love, he couldn't see anything wrong with it – sex had never been something he'd had the occasion, or the inclination, to indulge in. "Perhaps it would be more satisfying if you cared for the woman in question," he suggested quietly.

"Probably," Dean said, and shrugged. "But I'm not really the settling down type."

"You don't want a family?" Castiel sounded surprised. He thought Dean would make a good father – he was kind, and certainly seemed to have a lot of love to give if the way he had taken Castiel in was anything to go by,

"Well, yeah, I guess," Dean said. "But I know I'm not cut out for family life – I wouldn't wish me on anyone. I know how fucked-up I am inside, and it's not a pretty picture."

"You don't seem fucked-up to me."

Dean scoffed. "You don't know me, Cas. Even my own brother got so sick of my shit he left."

He turned back to the television and turned the volume up – a sign that their conversation was over – so Castiel left him and started on dinner.

* * *

Dean came through to the kitchen after the game had ended. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier," he said.

"It's my fault," Castiel insisted. "I shouldn't have pried."

"I just don't like talking about my family, okay? I want you to stay, and I don't want you to feel like you're an inconvenience or that I don't like having you here because I do. It's just..." Dean sighed. "What I'm trying to say is that the topic of my family is not up for discussion. Anything else, you can ask me about."

Castiel nodded. "Once again I'm sorry if I upset you."

"Forget it. It didn't happen." Dean said with a reassuring smile. Castiel was always so quick to apologise, and Dean wondered if that was to escape his dad's fists. "Dude, I'm not your dad," he added softly, without really thinking.

Castiel nodded, and then smiled.

Before Castiel could put up any kind of defensive wall and shut down he changed the subject. "So what smells so good, anyway?"

"Chicken and butternut squash curry," Castiel informed him as he loaded two platefuls and carried them to the table.

"Awesome!" Dean liked a good curry, but he was a bit wary of the butternut squash. He'd never had it, and really didn't want to disappoint Cas over his first cooking attempt for the two of them. He frowned and tentatively tried a mouthful. His eyes widened at the heat and he hurried to the fridge to grab a cold beer.

"Thanks!" he coughed after he downed several gulps of beer. "Wow. I didn't expect it to pack quite a punch. That's really good."

"I think I may have gone a bit overboard," Castiel said, face flushed red as he reached for his glass of milk.

"Well, maybe just a little bit," Dean agreed. "I'd like to still have my taste buds when I'm finished!" He laughed, but it took Cas a moment to join in. "Say, man – you've been here a week, now."

"Yes," Castiel agreed quietly, wondering if Dean was going somewhere with it.

"We should go out this weekend. Together. I know a few places, we can just relax and have fun. What do you say?"

"I'd like that," Castiel said automatically, and then realised that it was true. He wanted to get out of the apartment, but didn't really know his way around the area all that well, and it would be nice to go out with Dean.


	8. Chapter 7

Castiel looked utterly miserable as he walked through to the kitchen the next morning.

"Dude, you alright?" Dean asked as he bit into a slice of buttered toast.

"My head feels like it's about to split open."

"Yeah, I get like that after a night out," Dean laughed.

Castiel just glared daggers at him, all thoughts of being well-behaved and polite momentarily forgotton.

"There should be some Paracetamol or Ibuprofen in the cabinet in the bathroom. Take two with a glass of water, then go lie down again. Watch some TV, read the paper, go back to sleep. Just take it easy, okay?"

"Dean, I have a headache, not the flu. I'll be fine," he insisted, as he poured himself a glass of orange juice.

"Still. You've been pretty busy this week. Put your feet up. Relax. I'll see you when I get back from work." Dean started to leave. "Oh, hey – I put the phone number for Bobby's yard next to the phone just in case of an emergency. I mean, it's programmed into the phone, but just in case you forget what I showed you about scrolling through the stored contacts. Okay?"

"Alright."

"See you later Cas!" Dean shouted, and when the door clicked shut behind him Castiel went to raid the bathroom cabinet. He was not fine. He felt like someone was squeezing his brain.

He moved shampoo and shower gel and deodorant and out of the way to find band aids and out several packets of pills. Removing them, he also found some condoms which he hastily put back. There were two packets of Paracetamol and a bottle of prescription painkillers. They were dated several years ago, and the container was still full. It didn't even look like Dean had taken any at all. He knew he should have put them straight back without looking at them, but he told himself that he was just concerned that Dean may have a serious illness that he might need to know about if he ever needed to call an ambulance, when in truth a small part of his mind was telling him that an overdose could be a painless way out.

The phone rang suddenly, and Castiel jumped. He took two Paracetamol out of the packet and tossed them back in the cabinet.

"Dean Winchester's residence," he said, looking at the bottle of pills as he twirled it around. Why hadn't he just put it back in the cupboard? "No, I'm sorry. I think you have the wrong number. ... That's quite alright. Goodbye."

He placed the phone back in its cradle and returned to the kitchen for his orange juice before going back to bed.

He thought about Dean as he lay there. Dean had been good to him. Dean was the first person to look at him like there was nothing wrong with him since... Well. For a long time. He thought it was strange how quickly they'd developed a degree of familiarity with each other, but then he'd never had a friend like Dean before.

"Please," he whispered, staring at the ceiling and hoping that God was listening, "just give me this one thing." He knew he had no right to ask God for anything, but Dean's friendship was important to him. "Please."

. * * * .

Castiel managed to get another couple of hours sleep, and the next time he woke up he was feeling much better – though whether it was down to the extra sleep or the Paracetamol he wasn't sure.

He still wasn't hungry, however, but he got up and tidied the sofa bed away – because he wasn't going to lie around all day like a slob no matter how ill he felt – and jumped in the shower. He shivered even under the hot spray, and hoped he wasn't coming down with a cold. It had been awful the last time he'd caught one.

* * *

_It was his second night on the street, and it was raining. It felt like he'd been walking all day. He pulled his coat tighter around him as he looked for a sheltered place to spend the night – or at least a couple of hours before the cops came upon him and told him to move along. It was another half hour before he found a shop doorway that offered little protection from the wind and rain, but it would do._

_He'd barely settled down when another guy came over, and he looked like he'd been on the street for months._

_"You're in my spot."_

_"I was here first," Castiel stuttered, not out of fear but from the cold. If it had been dry he'd have left without a fuss, but he was desperate._

_"I said, you're in my spot," the guy repeated, moving closer._

_"We could share?"_

_"What are you, gay?"_

_Castiel flinched._

_"'Cause if you are, maybe we could come to some kind of arrangement. I prefer chicks myself, but your mouth's no different to theirs. So how about you suck my dick and we can share, hmm?"_

_Castiel grabbed his bag and stood. "It's all yours," he said, and ran. Laughter followed him until he crossed the street and turned the corner._

* * *

He'd slept on a park bench in the end, and woken up the next morning soaked right through with a cold that had lasted for a week. But that was before Dean had found him. Before Dean had taken him home, and wanted nothing in return. Dean was a good man.

He prayed to God for forgiveness as he jerked off under the spray, and he sank to his knees once he was done, his tears mixing with the water as they were washed away.

He got out of the shower before the water ran cold. As he went to get clean clothes from the cupboard in the living room that Dean had cleaned out for him one day, telling him that he wasn't going to keep living out of a bag like he was just going to up and leave again, he passed Dean's bookcase. There were rather a lot of books, and once Castiel was dressed he took a closer look at the titles. Dean hadn't struck him as the reading type at first, but then looks could be deceiving.

There were several authors – Kurt Vonnegut, Stephen King and James Patterson being the most common. He'd read Vonnegut in the college library, while his father had been under the impression he'd been studying late. He had no doubts that his father would have burned the books if he'd found them at home. If a book wasn't for school (or work, though that didn't apply to Castiel) then the only book a person should read was the Bible, in his father's opinion. He chose one of King's to read, and he spent the afternoon on the sofa curled up in a blanket, only getting up to defrost some soup in time for Dean coming home.

Every now and then Dean would forget for a moment that Cas was living with him because he been on his own for so long, and tonight was one of those nights. His whole body tensed, ready for a fight, when he opened his front door expecting silence instead of the sound of the TV , before he exhaled and relaxed. It was only Cas.

"Hey!" he shouted.

"Hello, Dean," came Cas's reply.

"The Green Mile, huh?" he said, looking at what Cas was reading. You reading that or watching this?" he asked pointing to the TV.

"I just wanted to hear the news," Cas said. "You can change it if you like."

"No, it's fine. I need a shower. Bobby was moaning that he's going to need to give me a day off sometime soon if I keep working unofficial overtime. Hey, are you feeling any better? You look a bit peaky."

"I feel a little off."

"Do you mind if I head out tonight? There's a pool night on and I figured I could probably hustle up some extra cash."

"Hustle?"

"Yeah, you know. Pretend I suck and then when they bet big win the game."

"That's sounds very dishonest."

"Hey, it's their own fault if they fall for it. I've been caught out myself, and it's not often the hustler gets hustled. So, you okay with it?"

"I don't want to stop you from living your life, Dean."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes. Go. Have fun."

"You still owe me a night out, though," Dean reminded him.

Castiel nodded. "Soup's on the cooker, by the way. I hope you don't mind that I didn't wait for you."

"No. You look like you needed it. Besides, I probably should have called to say I'd be late, anyway."

. * * * .

It was about half past midnight when Castiel heard Dean come home. He quickly pulled a t-shirt over his head and stepped into his jeans, before heading to the bathroom. He knocked quietly on the bathroom door, which swung open to reveal Dean hunched over the toilet. There was a glass next to the sink, so he quickly filled it with water and handed it to Dean.

"Thanks," Dean mumbled as he took several large mouthfuls.

He crouched beside Dean and rubbed a soothing hand on his back when he turned back to the toilet and started choking. "This isn't healthy, you know," he said eventually.

"None of the good things in life are," Dean answered.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself," he chided Dean gently.

"You shouldn't have to sit here with me, anyway. I'm not a pretty sight right now." He leaned back over the toilet and retched once again.

"It's alright."

"It's not alright, Cas. You weren't feeling one hundred percent today so you shouldn't have to hold me through my self-inflicted nausea. Go back to bed."

"Very well. If you're sure I can't get you anything else."

"'Night, Cas."

Good night, Dean."

In the living room Castiel stripped down again before getting into bed, and he paused when he felt the small bottle of pills that was still in his pocket. The sound of Dean throwing up again pulled him from his thoughts and he tossed the jeans aside until morning.

. * * * .

The next morning Dean was surprised to find Cas whistling in the kitchen as he cooked. "Dude, can you keep it down?" he winced.

"Sorry," Castiel smiled, but stopped whistling.

"You're happy this morning."

Castiel shrugged. "I feel much better today – it must have just been one of those 24-hour things. I thought you could use a cooked breakfast this morning."

Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder as a plateful of sausage, bacon and eggs was placed in front of him. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Cas said as he sat down opposite Dean. "I hardly ate anything yesterday, so I could probably use this as well."

"Well, I'll go through that kitchen stuff for you today, so I'll drop you off at church tomorrow with it. Then there's a game on."

"There always seems to be a game on," Castiel commented.

Dean laughed. "I know. But what were you planning on doing today?"

Castiel shrugged. "I'd like to read a bit more, but other than that I don't know."

. * * * .

True to his word, Dean sorted through all the stuff that had been cluttering up his cupboards for years. Cas helped, and then the two of them took the boxes down to the car so that they didn't have to do it tomorrow morning. After lunch Castiel curled up to read while Dean shouted at the TV most of the afternoon, and once the game had finished (and Dean had ranted until he was red in the face about the appalling performance his team had put in) they sat and ate dinner in front of the television. Dean flicked through the channels until he found some hospital drama that featured a rather good-looking doctor, and with an exaggerated sigh declared, "Well, I guess this is it, then."

Two episodes later Castiel washed up and with a bit of gentle persuasion persuaded Dean to dry.

"So, Cas," he grinned, tossing the towel on the kitchen counter. "You ready to hit a few bars?"

"No, thank you," Castiel replied, picking up the towel Dean had carelessly dumped and hanging it over the radiator to dry.

"Aw, come on, Cas! It's Saturday night! It'll be good fun, I promise," he added.

"Maybe another night, Dean," he said. "I would really rather just have an early night."

Dean's face fell. "Yeah, sure, okay." A hand rubbed the back of his neck. "Do you want me to stick around, or..?"

Castiel was really going to have to learn how to stand by his initial decisions and not be swayed by other people. "Can we be back by eleven?" he sighed, thinking that the last thing Dean needed was another night of getting drunk.

But the way Dean's face lit up when he grinned was almost worth it.

"Yeah, course we can. There's this new club I've been meaning to try out. It's supposed to be really good!"

And so half an hour later he was leading a rather lost looking Castiel in the direction of an empty table, drinks in hand.

"I believe my father would describe this place as, 'a den of iniquity'," Castiel murmured as he sat down. He glanced around, not knowing where to look, before eventually returning his gaze to Dean.

Dean, on the other hand, leaned back and sipped his beer as he eyed up the dancers on the stage. _Oh, yeah_, he grinned. He was definitely coming back here again.

Castiel chanced another glance around, but no – there was still far too much flesh on display. "I do not feel comfortable here, Dean," he told Dean after a moment.

Dean looked at him, relaxing back in his seat. "What do you mean? Booze, women, what more could you— Oh," he said, as Castiel's expression became slightly panicked.

_He's figured it out_, Cas thought to himself as he focused his attention on his drink. _He knows what I am and he'll kick me out._

"Of course, your family's the religious type. Sorry, I didn't even think."

_I'll end up back on the street and— Wait, what?_ Castiel's eyes narrowed as he looked up at Dean in surprise.

"We'll go somewhere else, it's fine."

"But you just bought drinks," Castiel said, not sure why he was turning down the opportunity to go somewhere a lot less... _sexual_.

"Well, down it quick," he said, taking another sip of his beer. He froze as he watched Castiel take him literally; gulping almost his entire beer down as if it was tap water. "Damn it, Cas!" he exclaimed. "Take it easy."

Castiel could feel the flush in his cheeks and wasn't sure if it was embarrassment or the drink. He wasn't blind to the fact that for a man in his mid-twenties most people would consider him to be incredibly naïve, and he was grateful that Dean didn't seem to be the type of person to judge him for that. He had just opened him mouth to tell Dean so when a pair of arms snaked their way around his shoulders. He turned, and froze when he saw the woman standing next to him.

"Hi, baby," she whispered in his ear. "What's your name?"

His gaze wandered involuntarily down, and she was wearing the flimsiest white undergarment and – oh sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph – it was _transparent_. He didn't know where to look. He was staring, he knew, and he knew he was supposed to be feeling something right now, but all he wanted was to stand up and offer her his coat but his feet didn't seem to want to move. He became aware of her waiting for him to say something, but he wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to say. Had she asked him something? He looked across at Dean pleadingly, eyes wide in panic.

If Dean didn't feel so sorry for Cas he might have laughed. "Cas!" he answered her suddenly, and a bit too roughly, causing Castiel to start. Dean turned to her. "His name is Cas. What's your name?"

"Chastity," she smiled.

Dean tried and failed to stifle the involuntary groan that escaped his lips, aware that Castiel was still staring at him. Instead he covered it by clearing his throat. "Chastity?" he repeated. "Wow! That's a _great_ name, but we were actually just leaving—"

"What could I do to persuade you and your friend to stay?" she purred, as she stroked Castiel's cheek.

A thousand lewd images flew through his mind, but Castiel's anxious whimper dragged him back to his senses. "Nothing, sorry." He stood up and stepped closer to her. "Perhaps another night, though." He winked and tucked five bucks under her thong.

She grabbed his hand and looked at him. "I'll hold you to that, tiger," she promised, as she moved the money safely into her cleavage.

Dean couldn't help but look down and she laughed. With a peck on his cheek she disappeared into the crowd to find another, more willing client.

Dean sank back into his chair and groaned into his hands. "Cas, you're going to be the death of me."

"I'm sorry," Cas said seriously.

He laughed. "Come on – I know a quieter place that's more to your taste."

"You do?" Castiel asked with a sceptical raised eyebrow.

"Hey, hey, hey, come on, now!" Dean protested. "I'm not all booze and women. Sometimes I'm just the booze."

Castiel laughed with him, though it sounded hollow even to his ears, and allowed Dean to hold onto his arm as he guided them through the crown to the exit. Chastity offered them both a flirtatious wave as they left, but Castiel wasn't looking at her and Dean pretended not to notice.

Dean drove them across town, and Castiel was vaguely aware that they seemed to be travelling back in the direction of Dean's apartment.

"This is the Roadhouse," Dean announced as they pulled up.

Castiel recognised the building from when they'd had to pick the car up before going to the beach. He followed Dean in and they walked straight up to the bar where a young blonde girl was wiping it down.

"Cas, this is Jo."

"Hi," she smiled.

Castiel suddenly became rather flustered. "When Dean said Ellen and Jo, I thought... I thought Joe was her husband."

Jo was silent as his words sank in, and then she let out a delighted cackle. "Oh my God! No! Ellen's my mother!"

Dean laughed so hard he doubled over and had to grab Castiel's arm for support. "Speaking of your mom, where is she?" he asked once his laughter had trailed off.

"She's doing a stock take. You want to see her?"

"I'll catch her when she comes out. Can we just get two beers, please? The usual."

"Sure thing."

Castiel didn't miss the way Jo looked Dean up and down, and he turned to Dean. "Are you and her... _together_?" he asked quietly.

"What? Me and Jo? No!"

Castiel straightened on his stool. "I see. My mistake."

"It's cool, Cas. She had a thing for me a few years back, but really she's like a sister to me, you know? And, eh," he looked over to Jo and tried to decide if she was out of earshot. "Don't tell Jo, but Ellen scares me."

"You're afraid of my mother?" Jo grinned as she brought their beers over.

Dean cast a look over at Ellen who had appeared from the back and was frowning at him. "I think so," he admitted.

"Who's the stiff?" Ellen called over.

"The stiff?" he echoed. He glanced at Cas, who was perched stiffly on the edge of his stool. "Ellen, this is Cas. Cas, Ellen. Dude, relax."

"I'm sorry?"

"Relax, Cas. There's no strippers here."

Castiel looked down at his drink in embarrassment.

"Dean, where have you been taking this poor boy?" Ellen sighed.

"Nowhere." Dean gave her his most charming grin. "Why would I go anywhere else?"

"Maybe because I don't hire strippers and you won't find any hookers standing around the corners 'round here?" Ellen teased.

Dean looked offended. "Ellen, I have never had to pay to get laid. But I could probably charge," he added with a grin.

Ellen rolled her eyes. "Just don't keep my daughter from her work. It'll pick up in here soon."

When Ellen went to help Jo wipe down the empty tables, Dean turned to Cas. "Ellen and Jo are great, and now they know you're a friend of mine they'll always have your back."

Castiel nodded. If he ever came here alone – which he doubted – that would be rather reassuring.

. * * * .

In the end it was half past one when Castiel finally managed to half carry, half drag Dean into the apartment. Castiel had stuck to soft drinks once he realised that Dean wasn't going to take it as easy as he'd promised, but having never drunk before his first few beers had gone straight to his head and he was feeling distinctly woozy. All in all they'd visited three bars, and he'd sat and watched a drunken Dean hit on anyone and everyone with breasts for the past hour.

Dean willingly collapsed face down onto his bed, and began snoring almost immediately. Castiel wrestled him out of his clothes, onto his back, and under the covers; keeping his eyes very deliberately focused on Dean's face as he did so. Green eyes opened and looked at him.

"Cas?" he mumbled, confused.

"Goodnight, Dean," Castiel said quietly.

A hand latched onto his wrist to stop him leaving, and his stomach tingled nervously.

"Cas?" Dean said.

"What is it, Dean?"

"I'm sorry."

Castiel's brow furrowed. Of course he would accept Dean's apology and forgive him, but he was unclear as to what exactly Dean was apologising for.

"Cas, I'm sorry," Dean said again, more insistent this time.

"For what?" Castiel whispered.

"For scaring you the other day. I just don't talk about my parents. Not even to Sam," he mumbled.

Castiel suddenly felt very cold. He didn't know much about Dean, for he was very closed off when it came to himself, but he knew that ordinarily Dean would not have said this much.

"Cas?" Dean asked pleadingly.

"I forgive you, Dean," he assured him, and Dean smiled lazily.

"Good," he murmured, closing his eyes. "Don't want you to go..." And he was asleep again.

Castiel watched him sleep for a while, unable to move. Drunk Dean was far more open and honest than sober Dean, and to realise that Dean truly meant what he said about this being his home for as long as he needed lifted a great weight off his shoulders.

He smiled as he pulled the covers up to keep the chill off of Dean, and tiptoed down the corridor to make his bed up on the sofa. There was just something about Dean that made him... not happy, per se, but... at ease. While Castiel still thought about how much easier it would be to die, with Dean around he didn't seem to think of it half as much. His last thought before he fell asleep was that Dean was a good, kind man, and he couldn't understand why he seemed so unconvinced of it.

* * *

_"Castiel, you are going to get married sooner or later – don't go thinking that by conveniently disliking every girl I bring here to meet you that you'll escape the fact."_

_"Father—"_

_"You are an embarrassment, Castiel! Why can't you see that I am trying to _help_ you?"_

_And then Castiel's head snapped to the side as the back of his father's hand impacted with the side of his face. He blinked back tears as he turned back to his father._

_"You should be grateful that I care enough to help you, boy!"_

_"You don't care about _me_, father – you care about your reputation in the community." The words were out of Castiel's mouth before he had even finished processing the thought._

_His father's gaze darkened. "You are a disobedient, rebellious, ungrateful little _child_! _Everything_ I have done for you, you throw back in my face. One day you will go too far and I shall turn my back on you, Castiel, and so will God. Mark my words, son."_

_"I'm sorry, Father," Castiel said. Not for his words, which surprised him, but for disappointing him._

_His father slammed the bedroom door, and Castiel could hear the click of the key turning in the lock._

_"You will sit in here and think about how you can better serve the good Lord."_

_Castiel could feel his eyes getting wet, but he didn't cry. He never cried, no matter how much he sometimes wanted to. He was just so wrong, in so many different ways._

* * *

Castiel woke with a start, his breath caught in his throat and the damp sheets clinking to his bare skin. He closed his eyes as if hoping to block out the memory, and suddenly realised that his cheeks were wet. Wiping his tears away angrily with the back of his hand, Castiel let out a frustrated sigh and buried his head deeper into the pillow. He tossed and turned for hours before he finally fell back into a fitful slumber.


	9. Chapter 8

Dean took Cas down to church the next morning, because the trunk was packed with boxes of stuff for the sale. Rather than go home, he opted to kill time browsing through the local book store, but he'd read all the Vonnegut titles they had in stock so he made his way back to the church and waited for him in the car. Castiel was first out and didn't take his gaze from the ground as he walked right past the Impala. Dean gave a short honk of the horn.

"Cas!" he shouted out the half-open window.

Cas looked over at him and silently got in the car. Apart from a mumbled "Thank you" said nothing the whole ride home.

Dean frowned. Castiel had seemed to be in a more positive mood yesterday – or perhaps that had just been because Dean had distracted him from his thoughts and given him something else to focus on. But he still couldn't think what could have reduced Castiel to _this_. He'd only known him for a few days, but even when the dude had been hanging off the edge of a bridge he'd never been this quiet and withdrawn. His sudden change in attitude scared Dean, and brought his protective instinct to the surface once again. But Dean, being Dean, was useless with words unless he was using them to beat himself up about something, so he couldn't offer up any motivational words to inspire in Castiel some of that relaxed and happy outlook he'd had yesterday; though he did place a hand on Castiel's knee and give it a reassuring squeeze.

"I can't remember the last time I was up this early on a Sunday," he said conversationally. Small talk to fill the silence that, for once in his life, Dean couldn't bring himself to fill with classic rock music.

Castiel hummed in response.

"How was church?"

Castiel shrugged.

Dean let the silence reign again for a moment. "Is there anything you want to do today?"

Castiel shook his head.

Dean gave up. If the dude didn't want to talk, then Dean would leave him be. He thought he could make out a faint rattling when he pulled away from a set of traffic lights, and he scowled. He'd fix that. His baby deserved better, and he'd treat her right in her old age.

Castiel still said nothing when they got home; he just sat at the kitchen table and traced the swirls in the wood as Dean made them sandwiches.

"You want to talk about whatever's eating you?" Dean asked eventually, when Castiel still hadn't said a word during lunch.

But Castiel shook his head, not taking his eyes off the Sunday paper that he found so interesting. Dean would have grinned if he hadn't been concerned at the sudden change in Castiel since last night, for he only got the paper for the sports section and Castiel read everything _but_ the sports pages. They were as different as chalk and cheese, but he thought that, for some reason, they seemed to balance each other out.

Understanding that Castiel wasn't going to talk to him any time soon, Dean grabbed his toolbox and went outside to work on the Impala. One minute it was still early afternoon, and it wasn't until the light started to fade and he found himself squinting that he realised how late it had gotten. He'd fixed the problem a while ago, and was now just tinkering to kill time.

With a heavy sigh Dean finished up and headed back inside, where he was welcomed with the warm aroma of simmering spices.

"Damn it, Cas," he said as he entered the kitchen. "That smells awesome!"

"Thank you," Castiel said quietly, not turning round from where he was washing up.

"I'm going to get cleaned up," Dean said, motioning to the grease all over him. "That nearly ready?"

"It's ready now," Castiel told him, "but I'll wait for you before I dish up."

Dean thought that Castiel still seemed a bit off, but he didn't seem to look as depressed as he had been when he'd come out of church that morning. He didn't push him, because he figured that whatever had upset him he was working through, and instead the two of them spent the night watching the first two Die Hard movies and drinking beer.

* * *

Dean had to drag himself out of bed the next morning, and he yawned all the way to the living room. Before jumping in the shower he poked his head into the living room to see Castiel curled up, still fast asleep. Dean smiled. He looked so different there – whereas he was usually so tense and uptight, lying there asleep he looked almost peaceful, and kind of vulnerable.

He let the shower run as he gave his teeth a quick brush, and swore when he jumped under the spray and it was freezing. God damn boiler! That was the third time this month Dean was going to have to fix it. He was just grateful he knew what he was doing and didn't have to call out a plumber every week, because he didn't have the money to afford the call out fee let alone the repairs, and he didn't fancy being stuck without any hot water.

He scribbled a quick note to Castiel before he left, apologising for the lack of hot water and that no, it wasn't his fault for being in the shower too long, and that he's take a look at the boiler when he got home at five. If Castiel wanted hot water for anything he'd just have to boil the kettle.

At work Bobby had a '95, seventh gen Impala with engine troubles for him to work on that day, but it couldn't hold a candle to his baby. While she was sleek and sexy and stood out from the crowd, this modern hunk of junk looked like damn near every other car on the road. Nevertheless, he was determined to have her running as smooth as silk.

As he circled round to the other side, however, he saw the scrapes and dents that ran along the right-hand side of the car. His blood ran cold as he absently trailed his fingers along the grooves – they'd been lucky; so much luckier than their dad. Sam got to go on, living his life, while he had to live with it every damned day. He punched the car door.

"Dean, that car had better not go back to its owners with more dents than when it arrived!" Bobby's voice called over.

"Sorry, Bobby!" Dean yelled back.

"Idjit."

Dean smirked, pretending he hadn't heard. Bobby was a good guy. Hell if anything, he was _too_ good – he cared too damn much about everyone, Dean included. With his criminal record and drinking problem no-one else would hire him – but hey, who didn't have the odd drink when they got home at night... every night of the week... until they either threw up or passed out... But Bobby had given him a chance; got him back on the straight and narrow (sort of). So long as he worked hard, kept his fingers to himself, and didn't come to work drunk, Dean would be okay. He popped the hood and got to work and, completely in his element, the time flew by.

Dean spent most of the day bent over the engine, and was kept so busy that he didn't even have time to call home at lunch to check how Castiel was doing as he'd promised he would.

When he got home that night he went straight into the living room, and when Castiel wasn't there tried the kitchen. Aiming for third time lucky, he wrapped his knuckles on the bathroom door.

"Cas? You in there?"

There was no answer, and Dean turned the door handle. It was locked.

"Cas? You okay in there?"

Dean knocked louder, getting more worried at the silence on the other side of the door.

"Look Cas, buddy, if you don't open this door, or at least talk to me through it, I'm going to break it down."

He knocked one last time.

"_Cas_!"

The door opened and Dean immediately noticed the guilt in Castiel's eyes, not quite hidden under the layers of sadness and regret. As Castiel stepped away from the door a flash of light drew Dean's gaze down to his hand, and in an instant he held Castiel's wrist in a vice like grip away from his body, his other arm pressing across his body and pinning him to the radiator.

"Let it go, Cas," he growled. "Let it go."

The blade fell with a clink into the bath and Dean eased up on the pressure he was applying to Castiel's body.

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?" he hissed, unable to control his anger.

"That I'm going to hell either way!" Castiel spat. "And that right now I have _nothing_ worth living for!"

Dean let him go as if he'd been burned, his face an expressionless mask. "I thought we were friends. You don't think that's worth living for? But of course you're so eager to leave me – just like everybody else. Even my own _brother_ didn't stick around!" Dean shouted, ignoring the tears pricking at his eyes. "You can leave any time you want – you're not a prisoner, here. So why the hell would you do it in _my own bathroom_ AND LEAVE ME TO FIND YOU?"

Castiel stared resolutely at a point somewhere over Dean's shoulder, unable to look Dean in the eye. "People die every day, Dean."

"And most of them don't want to. To just throw your life like this away disrespects _every single one_ of them! You don't think I'd miss you? You have no idea how _stupid_ and SELFISH that is Sa—"

"I COULDN'T FUCKING DO IT, DEAN!" Castiel screamed. "I couldn't..." he choked back a sob, and took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice only wavered slightly. "I couldn't do it."

All the anger and fear that Dean was feeling left him then at the defeat in Castiel's voice. At how weak Castiel sounded. "Good," he said faintly, still reeling from the fact he'd been about to call Cas _Sam_.

Finally Castiel looked at him, and Dean fisted his t-shirt in his hands and shoved him back, hard, against the radiator.

"Don't you _ever_ do that to me again, you hear me? _Promise me_!"

When Castiel nodded warily, Dean let his head fall against his shoulder, his grip on Castiel's t-shirt loosening. Damn it... It was just like Sam all over again, and he didn't think he had the strength to do it all again; being on edge all the time. If only he hadn't seen Cas on the bridge that night, then... But he had. And Dean, who needed someone to look after but pushed everyone away, had brought him home.

Castiel stood there awkwardly, uncomfortable where the radiator was pressing into his back. He felt like he should hold Dean – that Dean _needed_ to be held – but wasn't sure that he'd want him to. He didn't understand why Dean was so closed off whenever it came to the important things, or why he seemed to determined to save him. His fists clenched and unclenched involuntarily at his sides as he mulled this over, but then Dean suddenly straightened and let him go.

"So I suppose, on some level at least, that means that you don't actually _want_ to die," Dean said, almost hopefully.

Castiel shrugged.

"I thought you were okay. I mean, you've been pretty happy these past few days. Or at least, you've _looked_ pretty happy."

Castiel felt a little guilty, then. Dean had been trying so hard, and not to change him. But then Dean didn't know anything about him, so he wouldn't know there was anything _to_ change.

"Cas?"

"I'm not a TV, Dean," he said softly. "My feelings can't be turned on and off, or changed at the press of a button."

Dean nodded in understanding. "One day at a time, as if you were—" but he stopped himself before he said too much. "One day at a time," he repeated, and there was a slight question underneath his words.

Castiel frowned. Dean was almost _too_ understanding at times. But he nodded, and let Dean lead him through to the kitchen where he sat him at the table and placed a steaming mug of hot chocolate in front of him a couple of minutes later.

"Okay, then," Dean said slowly. "So what happened today?"

Castiel shrugged, unwilling to discuss the nightmares he had of his father.

"Come on, buddy – you've got to give me _something_ here. Or at least _try_ to. I mean, I thought things were going good, yeah?"

"Yes," Castiel admitted.

"So, what? Was it something I did? Something I didn't do? Is there something you _want_ me to—"

"Dean!"

Dean fell silent.

"It's not you, okay? I just... I have a lot of... There's so much..." he sighed, unable to find a way to say what he was trying to say without saying too much.

"You know what I think?" Dean asked quietly. "You waited until I came home. You _wanted_ me to stop you, Cas. Even if you just don't know it yet."

Castiel said nothing, but there was a part of him that wondered if maybe Dean was right.

* * *

Dean took care of dinner that night, successfully managing to defrost some of Castiel's chilli. (Well, he was counting it a success – he'd only burned a little bit that had stuck to the bottom of the pot.)

"Put on whatever you like," Dean said, tossing the remote in Castiel's direction.

Castiel immediately changed channels to the news. Dean opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again. He'd said 'whatever you like', and if this was what Castiel liked, then he'd put up with it.

"_The body of missing seventeen-year-old Samina Abdul has been discovered in a shallow grave in the woods on the outskirts of her town. Police are looking at CCTV footage in the area._"

"There are some real freaking monsters out there, you know that?" Dean commented.

Castiel merely nodded sadly.

They ate in silence after that, neither paying much attention to the TV, and Dean washed up instead of just abandoning the dishes in the sink. When he walked back into the living room Cas was curled up on the sofa, so he took the blanket that lay across the back of the sofa and draped it over him.

"Hey," he said softly, and Castiel moved to allow Dean to sit next to him. But Dean placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come here."

Confused, Castiel allowed Dean to manoeuvre him so he was lying down with his head on Dean's thigh – which wasn't as uncomfortable as he'd have thought it would be. Once he was settled, Dean still didn't take his hand from his shoulder; instead rubbing soothing circles through the thin fabric of his t-shirt with his thumb.

They sat like that in silence for what seemed like hours, each content just to sit in the other's company. Castiel mulled over the church sermon from the day before, and Dean talked himself out of interrupting the silence to ask the difficult questions (because he was a coward like that).

"God hates me," Castiel said suddenly.

Dean choked on thin air. "What?" he exclaimed. "Cas, I don't believe in the guy, but from what I hear God doesn't hate anybody."

Castiel shook his head in disagreement, but wouldn't elaborate any further.


	10. Chapter 9

The next day Castiel noticed that anything and everything sharp had mysteriously vanished. He supposed it was nice that Dean was looking out for him, but at the same time it irrationally pissed him off. Who was Dean to barge into his life and try to take control of it? But he didn't say anything when Dean came home, until he was trying to prepare dinner. Well he didn't actually _say_ anything; he just stood between the TV and Dean, arms folded.

"Dude, d'you mind?"

"If you want to eat, I suggest you let me have a sharp knife. I simply _cannot_ cut the vegetables with a butter knife," he complained, showing more if his irritation than he would have liked.

Dean looked slightly sheepish as he tried to explain. "Uh, yeah—"

"Dean," Castiel sighed, letting his arms fall to his sides. "Just don't."

Dean disappeared and returned with a knife. It wasn't the right one, but Castiel would make do. Dean hovered in the kitchen, totally not watching him, and Castiel contemplated stabbing him with it. Instead he washed and dried it before handing it back to Dean without a word when he was finished with it.

"Sorry," Dean said, but took the knife back to wherever it was he was keeping it before returning to the living room.

Castiel sighed. He supposed he should be happy that someone cared enough about him to look out for him, but the last time someone had controlled his life under the illusion of 'looking out for him' he had beaten, so it was hard to be grateful.

* * *

_"You are an abomination, and will spend an eternity rotting in Hell if you fail to repent."_

_"Please, Father! I can't... I... I can't help it!" he choked out._

_When his father threw down his belt in defeat, Castiel allowed himself to relax now that the beating had ceased. But he relaxed too soon, he realised, when his father grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and hoisted him to his feet._

_"You are an embarrassment to this family; do you hear me, Castiel?"_

_"Yes, sir," Castiel answered quietly._

_"You are nothing to me, boy! NOTHING!" he spat._

_And then there it was – the stinging blow; as if his words didn't sting enough. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he stared resolutely at the spot on the wall where the force of his father's hand had spun his gaze, desperately trying to hold them back because men didn't cry._

* * *

An hour later he was stuffed full and watching _Doctor Sexy, MD_ reruns with Dean in silence. It seemed like silence was his best friend lately.

"Cas?" Dean asked during a commercial break.

Castiel looked at him.

"Have you ever, you know, _talked_ to someone about this?"

Castiel frowned.

"Like a shrink, you know? I usually think they're full of themselves, but..." He sighed. "I'm not really making it sound like the right thing here. I'm not saying you're crazy, or that there's something _wrong_ with you – I just think that... If you haven't got your family to talk to, and you won't talk to me, you should have _someone_ you can talk to about it. What about the minister guy at your church? Can you talk to him about it?"

Castiel had suspected this conversation would come sooner or later, but it was not one he wanted to have so he shook his head vehemently. "No."

"Cas—"

"I said _no_, Dean!" Castiel was very definite in his decision, and his voice was almost a growl. "Can you just drop it? Please?" he added, slightly softer this time.

Dean sighed again, but nodded reluctantly. "Okay, yeah. If that's what you want."

"Thank you," he said, and they fell back into an uneasy silence.

. * * * .

It didn't matter that he'd told Cas he'd drop it – he just couldn't let it go because he was worried about him, so the next day he spoke to the only person he had to talk to.

"Bobby?"

"Yeah? What is it?" Bobby asked gruffly.

"Have you got a minute?"

"What do you want?"

Dean shifted from one foot to the other. "I need some advice."

"Damn it, boy, do I look like _Dear Abby_ to you?"

"Sorry, Bobby," he said, turning to leave. "Never mind. It doesn't matter."

Bobby sighed. "Dean... Take a break."

"But—"

"You've earned it. Come here."

Dean followed Bobby through to his office where he was ushered into a seat and a steaming hot mug of coffee was thrust into his hand.

"Okay, so talk."

And Dean did. He talked for twenty minutes and told Bobby everything. He told him about finding Cas on the bridge, about Castiel leaving and Dean taking him back home again, he told him that Castiel's father had beaten him, and he that he'd found him with a blade in his hand when he'd finished work on Monday and how didn't know what to do or how to help him, all while Bobby just sat there and listened.

When Dean finally finished, Bobby drained the last of his coffee and looked at him.

"Well?" Dean asked. "What do I do?"

"Dean," Bobby started, "I gave you a job because I knew your situation and I went out on a limb – I trusted you. Most people wouldn't have."

"I know."

"So you see where I'm going with this?"

Dean shook his head.

"You can't hope to help him until you know whatever it is that's eating him."

"Yeah, but he doesn't want to tell me—"

"You don't want to ask!" Bobby all but yelled back. "Just because _you_ don't like to talk about things doesn't mean other people don't! It's about him, not you, so pull your head out of your ass and talk to him!"

"I know it's not about me!" Dean said defensively.

"Do you? Because it seems to me that you've done piss-poor job of actually sitting him down and asking him what's wrong! Some people don't like to be a burden. Sometimes you need to take the time to be a friend!"

"I..." Dean was speechless.

"Sit there and think about what I just said. I'm going to go finish putting the new brake pads on that Mustang."

Dean stood up. "But Bobby, that's my—"

"Sit!"

Dean sat.

"Think."

. * * * .

When Dean got back home that night he grabbed a beer and sat down on the sofa next to Cas. "So," he said casually. "How are you?"

"Do you mean am I liable to try to kill myself today?" Castiel replied matter-of-factly.

Dean visibly winced at the bluntness of Castiel's tone. He hadn't meant to sound so obvious. "Well, uh, yeah."

Castiel absently picked at a loose thread hanging from the cushion. "I don't think so."

Dean let out the breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. "Good. 'Cause, you know, I'd try and stop you again."

"Yes, I do."

"Talk to me."

"I am talking to you."

"I mean tell me what you're thinking – whatever it is you're not saying out loud. "You _can_ tell me."

Castiel shook his head. "No."

Dean tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling, a part of him thinking that if it were Sam he'd probably threaten to beat it out of him but knowing that that would just cause Castiel to retreat further into himself.

"Fair enough," he said instead. "But if you _do_ decide you want to talk—"

"Thank you, Dean. But I will not burden you further by telling you all my problems."

"Dude, I _asked_, okay? I offered you a place to stay; I asked you how you are – that makes you about as far away from a burden as you can be."

"You don't talk about what it is that bothers _you_," Castiel pointed out. "Whatever it is that you keep bottled up inside you, the thoughts that you try to drown out night after night with all that beer. So don't you lecture me about _talking_ about it – about what's wrong, and how I feel. Not unless you feel like sharing yourself!" he snapped bitterly.

Dean walked out then, slamming the door behind him.

Castiel immediately felt guilty. He went to bed early but lay awake, unable to sleep. Dean had been nothing but good to him, and yet all Castiel seemed to do was keep him at a distance and push him away when he got too close. He reasoned with himself that it would hurt less when Dean found out the truth and told him to leave, but it didn't change the fact that he liked Dean; liked having him as a friend. He heard Dean stagger in at some ungodly hour, colliding loudly with something – possibly the telephone table in the hallway – as he made his way to his room.

"_Shit!_" Dean exclaimed in a hushed tone, to no-one in particular.

Castiel pulled the covers around his head as he willed himself to sleep, but tomorrow was a long, long way away.


	11. Chapter 10

When Dean walked into the kitchen the next morning Castiel was hand washing two of his t-shirts in the sink.

"Dude, there's a machine for that."

"It's not worth putting it on every couple of days for a handful of things."

Dean realised then that Castiel had dug out the drying rack from the cupboard under the stairs.

"You mean you've been doing it by hand this past week?"

"Every other night," Castiel nodded. "I don't mind – there isn't that much."

"Cas, you need some new clothes," Dean said, and not for the first time.

"I'll get some when I have money."

"You're not going to have money until you get a job," Dean pointed out.

Castiel tensed. "I know, I—"

Dean shook his head. "Don't worry about it."

Castiel bit his lip as he rinsed the soap out of his t-shirt. It wasn't that he hadn't been looking for a job, but he'd never finished college and couldn't drive, so his options were limited. He didn't want Dean to think that he was abusing his kindness, or taking his hospitality for granted. He _was_ grateful. For everything that Dean had done for him.

Dean moved to the fridge and grabbed the carton of breakfast juice, drinking it straight from the container.

"So are we not talking about last night?" Castiel asked tentatively.

"What's there to talk about?" Dean asked.

"I was rather rude," Castiel said awkwardly.

"You were honest."

Castiel opened and closed his mouth, unsure how to respond to that. It was the last thing he'd expected Dean to say. He looked down at the t-shirt in his hands, thinking that it was looking rather faded and worn.

"What say you and me head out for lunch, hmm?" Dean asked, changing the subject.

"If you want to," Castiel nodded, smoothing out creases with his fingers.

"And I'm thinking, maybe after, we could get you some new clothes," he chanced.

"Dean, we have discussed this," Castiel protested, looking up at him. "I will not let you waste your brother's money on me."

"Okay firstly, _you_ discussed this, and secondly, I got paid yesterday. You can't dictate how I spend _my_ money, and I _want_ to buy you some new threads. You look homeless."

"I _am_ homeless."

"You're not—" Dean sighed. "You have a home, okay?"

"_You_ have a home. I sleep on your sofa instead of the streets."

Dean found himself walking over to Castiel without thinking and hugging him.

Castiel tensed in his arms, still not used to the fact that with Dean physical contact didn't equal pain. Before meeting him, it had been a long time since someone had touched him with love. Not that Dean _loved_ him, but—

"You have a home, okay?" Dean said in his ear.

Castiel nodded into his shoulder.

"Now I'm buying you some new clothes and that's that."

"Dean—"

"I can buy you clothes myself, or you can come with me and choose them – it's up to you. Either way, you're getting new clothes."

Castiel moved over to the drying rack and hung his t-shirt over it. It would be nice to have a couple more t-shirts, he admitted to himself, for then he wouldn't have to wash them as frequently. And the ones he had _did_ look old. But he was already imposing enough on Dean. He sighed. Dean was stubborn enough that he _would_ go out and buy clothes for him if he refused, he knew that much. So, concerned about Dean's choice of clothing for him, he reluctantly agreed.

Dean assured him he knew the 'perfect place' to go for lunch; though Castiel doubted his definition of perfect as they walked into a clichéd diner and slid into a cramped booth.

"Two double cheeseburgers and two Cokes please, Becky" Dean grinned at the waitress when she came over. "So, do you want me to pick you up from church tomorrow?"

Castiel shook his head. "No."

"It's a long walk back, Cas."

"I won't be going to church tomorrow," said, eyes darting around the diner. Everywhere that wasn't at Dean.

Dean wasn't fooled by Castiel's attempts at looking casually around their surroundings. "Why not?" he asked, hoping that he could manage to coax a real answer out of Cas.

"It is not appropriate for me to attend any more," Castiel said sadly.

Dean leaned forward. "Cas, what happened?"

"Dean, I do not wish to discuss it," Castiel stated tiredly.

Dean sighed. "Alright. But feel free to talk about something else."

"Like what?"

"Like, I don't know!" Dean shrugged.

"Why don't you tell me about your work," Castiel suggested.

Dean's eyes widened in surprise at that, but he started telling him about Bobby and the yard, the Impala he'd been working on and how it wasn't as good as his baby, and Castiel listened intently the whole time as Dean started rambling about the differences in the engine and design of all the different generations of Impala and how the '67 was, in his mind, the very best.

Castiel may not have understood much of what Dean was saying when it came to the technical details, but he enjoyed listening to him speak – it was nice to listen to him speak so passionately about something he obviously cared about, given he didn't talk much about himself.

It wasn't until Dean had polished off the last of his burger that he realised just how long he'd been talking. "I'm boring you, aren't I?"

"Not at all," Castiel replied, taking another small bite of his burger. Dean looked at him disbelievingly as he chewed and swallowed before continuing. "I find it very fascinating to hear you discuss your work. It is obviously something you are very passionate about."

"Engines are easy, dude – so much simpler than people. I get them."

Castiel smiled. "I think you underestimate yourself, Dean. You seem to 'get' me very well."

"Nah," Dean shrugged. "You just remind me of Sam, that's all: I get him. Or at least, I used to," he corrected himself quietly.

"Don't sell yourself short, Dean," Cas insisted. "I don't think you give yourself nearly enough credit."

Dean scoffed.

"Dean, may I ask," Castiel inquired quietly, "and obviously you do not have to answer if you are unwilling to discuss the matter, but... what happened between you and your brother?"

Dean's gaze hardened.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "It was rude of me to ask. It is just apparent to me that you both still love each other, and I guess, I just don't understand how you could both be so prepared to lose that."

"Yeah, well... I guess sometimes love just isn't enough."

"I loved my brother – of course I did, for he was my kin – but I never loved him as much as you clearly love Sam. He is very lucky to have a brother like you."

Dean was about to tell Castiel that he didn't know Dean at all, and that he didn't know jack shit about what happened between them and that he should keep his nose out of other people's business, when he remembered that if it wasn't for him Sam wouldn't have been able to finish his degree and graduate. His expression softened. "Maybe you're right," he said, "but I think he and I both know I'm more bother than I'm worth, most of the time."

"Not to me," Castiel said sincerely, as he finished the last of his burger and wiped his greasy fingers on one of the cheap paper napkins provided. "Shall we?"

Dean got the bill and the two headed for one of the smaller clothing stores. It turned out that Cas had never really had _new_ clothes before – being from a cheap, religious family who donated to various charities and lived off the bare minimum, he'd always just inherited his brother's old hand-me-downs.

That really riled Dean, because no matter how much they'd struggled financially growing up with his dad moving from job to job, and drinking himself to sleep most nights, at least he'd always made sure he and Sammy always had food in their stomachs and clothes on their backs – their _own_ clothes.

So an hour and three stores later, Castiel now had a t-shirt for every day of the week, a pair of jeans (which Dean had informed him would be much more comfortable than the suit trousers that he'd been wearing), some new socks and underwear, and was looking at a navy jumper when Dean reappeared carrying something with difficulty behind his back to keep it from Castiel's sight.

"Dude, no," he said, seeing the jumper he was eyeing up. "That looks like my grandfather would have worn it."

"I already have a jumper," Castiel said. He wouldn't have let Dean buy it for him anyway – it was far too expensive. Then he noticed that Dean was hiding something from him.

"Dean, I think I have more than enough clothes, now!" he exclaimed in frustration.

He'd agreed one or two shirts, but Dean had just kept insisting, 'One more, Cas. Just one more.'

"Can we please just pay for these and leave?"

"Not until you see this," Dean said.

Castiel's jaw dropped when Dean revealed the tan trench coat he'd been hiding.

"I saw the way you looked when I told you yours had gone," Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck. "If you don't want it, or don't like it, I'm not saying you _have_ to get it, but—"

"It's perfect!" Castiel declared. "But where did you find it?"

Dean shrugged. "Sale rack – it's old stock. I think it might be a bit big, though..."

Castiel swapped the pile of clothes he was carrying for the coat Dean held and tried it on.

"I was right – it's a bit big," Dean said, looking him up and down.

Castiel frowned. "So was my old one – I liked it that way," he said dejectedly.

"Hey, if you're happy, I'm happy," Dean said, eager to fend off another heated debate about clothes.

He laughed as Castiel turned to look at the back of the coat in the mirror. "You know, when we were kids Sammy had this god-awful denim jacket he wore everywhere – and I mean, _everywhere_! Come rain or shine or snow he'd be wearing that damn coat, and my dad couldn't get him to wear anything else. Then one day he left it on the bus after a school trip – he was just too damned excited about that trip – and he refused to leave the house for a week. We never got the coat back and dad was getting pissed that he wouldn't go to school, so I bought him a new one with my pocket money and said someone had handed it in at the bus depot. He went right back to school the next day, with this great big sappy grin on his face. I didn't think he knew any different – he was just a kid – but when he got home that night he gave me this big hug and whispered, 'Thank you, Dean' in my ear. The little bitch _knew_. All day, he'd known. I thought I'd done so damn well," Dean laughed sadly to himself.

Castiel had stopped and was looking at Dean as he reminisced. He may have started telling the story to Castiel, but by the end he was telling it to himself; reminding himself of the better times when he and Sam were like two brothers should be. Castiel felt an odd twinge of jealousy. He had never had that closeness with his brother – Michael was too much like their father, though he believed more in the bonds of family – but listening to Dean made him feel like he, too, had lost something, and when Dean finished and Castiel saw the tears pricking his eyes, he moved towards Dean and wrapped his arms around him awkwardly.

"You did," he whispered in Dean's ear.

"Thanks, Cas," Dean murmured back gratefully. "Now stop being such a chick," he added lightly as he pushed Castiel off him, and Castiel immediately stepped back.

"Fags!" someone shouted and Castiel tensed, a faint blush tingeing his cheeks.

"Like your dad!" Dean yelled back in the direction of the voice. "Come on." He tugged Castiel over to the checkout before whoever it was came looking for a fight.

When they got home Castiel insisted on trying on all his new clothes again, which made Dean smile. He didn't tell Cas, but he'd blown at least half his pay packet on him. It was worth it, though. He figured he'd need to place another call to his brother soon. He sighed, and rubbed a hand down his face. What the hell had he become, scrounging of his younger brother every damn time he was struggling?


	12. Chapter 11

When Dean walked into the living room the next morning he froze in the doorway – Castiel was on his knees, hands clasped and eyes shut, mouth moving in words too quiet for him to hear. When Castiel was finished he opened his eyes, and looked at Dean.

"What were you praying for?" Dean asked.

"That is between myself and God."

"Sort of like a birthday wish, huh?"

Castiel looked at him blankly.

"You know – you blow out the candles on your birthday cake but if you tell anyone what you wished for it won't come true?"

"I wouldn't know."

"You—" Dean shook his head. "You know, I keep thinking that your dad couldn't have done any more to ruin your childhood, but then he does."

"Dean," Castiel started warningly. They'd had this conversation before.

Dean held his hands up in surrender. "I'm just saying, you've missed out."

"You seem to be intent on changing that, though," Castiel pointed out.

Dean grinned. "So come on – what was it like growing up the way you did?"

"We had a lot of space. There were fields, and trees. Small houses. None of these massive apartment blocks. I kept bees."

Dean shivered. He'd had a bad experience with bugs, once. "Bees?"

"Yes. I would make honey, and sell it at the local market."

"You _made_ honey?"

Castiel nodded. "Our community prided itself on being as self sufficient as it could be." He paused. "Presumably so it would be easier to control us as we grew up; easier to mould us into their image."

Dean didn't know what to say to that, and Cas didn't seem to have anything else to say on the matter.

"Dean…" Cas started.

"Yeah?"

"Forgiveness." At Dean's puzzled expression, Castiel elaborated. "I prayed for forgiveness."

"For what?"

But Castiel just shook his head.

* * *

Because Castiel didn't go to church that day they had an early lunch. Dean made burgers, and Castiel couldn't get enough of them.

"That's really good!" he declared through a mouthful of meat, juices dribbling down his chin. For once he didn't give a shit about table manners as he took a second bite before he'd swallowed his first.

Dean positively beamed, and made them a second one each.

"These make me really happy," Cas said, and he hummed in satisfaction. If it was possible, the second one was even better than the first.

"You're easily pleased!" Dean joked.

Castiel flashed him a small, sad smile. "Sometimes the simple things you take for granted are the luxuries another can't afford."

Dean narrowed his eyes as he tried to read between the lines, because Castiel was very good at not always saying what was on his mind.

"Have you ever been homeless, Dean?"

Dean shook his head.

Castiel ducked his gaze to his half-eaten burger. "If you wanted, you could make and eat burgers every day. When I was sleeping in shop doorways and side alleys, I didn't know if I was even going to scrape enough change together for a cup of coffee to keep me warm the next day, let alone a bite to eat."

He heard Dean suck in a breath as if he was about to say something, but Castiel kept talking.

"You can't imagine how difficult it is to try to get washed in the toilets at the bus station – and that's if you can get in, because sometimes there's a charge to get in and that's thirty cents that could go towards a sandwich, so you're forced to sacrifice your personal hygiene for nutrition." He finally looked up at Dean. "So yes, I may seem easily pleased to you, Dean, but that's because I know what it's like to go without these things."

Dean's mouth hung open as he shook his head, because that's not what he meant at all and he didn't know how to take it back.

"I'm sorry," Castiel said when the silence had gone on too long. "I know you didn't mean it like that, I just—"

"Hey, it's okay, Cas," Dean said, finding his voice at last. "You're right – I can't imagine what it was like for you."

Castiel just stared at him until Dean felt like he was drowning.

He cleared his throat. "What's say you and me veg out and watch movies all day, huh?"

"'Veg out'?" Castiel echoed.

"Yeah. Be still like vegetables," Dean laughed, eyes twinkling until he realised he was quoting Pretty Woman. It had been Lisa's favourite movie and he must have suffered through watching it with her at least twenty times. He tried to disguise his blush by coughing as he thanked the universe that Cas wouldn't understand that reference.

"Yes," Castiel said thoughtfully. "I think I would like to 'veg out'."

"Good. Terminator or Alien?"

"You choose."

"Terminator it is, then."

* * *

"Have you spoken to that friend of yours yet?" Bobby asked Dean on Monday, after hauling him into his office.

"I tried."

"Well try harder. It'll be too late when you're standing over his grave."

"Bobby!" Dean exclaimed, shocked by his boss's bluntness.

"I'm just saying, boy. Talk to him."

"I did," Dean protested as he sat down.

"_Again_!"

"I will! But I swear it's like the dude's bipolar or something. One minute we're having a fun day out, the next he's moody, the day after that he's cleaning my apartment like a neat freak, then I find him trying to off himself. I just don't know what I'm going to get next with the guy." A sudden surge of emotion hit Dean, so he leaned forward, put his head in his hands, and took several deep breaths.

"You okay?"

Dean nodded, and sat up. "It's like my brother all over again," he admitted quietly.

"I don't know what happened there because you never told me, and I'm not going to pry into what's not my business, but do you even know this guy?"

"No. I told you – I just drove past him when he was standing on the edge of a bridge. The thing is, though, it feels like I've known him forever. Like he's always been there, you know?"

"Hmm," Bobby mused. "Well, there are some people who just slot right into your life like that." Bobby looked at his watch. "Look, I haven't got the money to pay you the overtime you've been putting in lately, so why don't you take off home now. We'll manage here, and you can talk to this guy. Cas, was it?"

Dean nodded. "Thanks, Bobby."

When he got in his car he'd barely put the keys in the ignition when his cell rang. He checked the caller ID before answering, and he couldn't hit the answer button fast enough when he read the name.

"Sam?" he said, a mixture of confusion and hope and fear fluttering in his stomach. Sam never called him – it was always the other way about.

"Dean." Sam cleared his throat. "How are you doing?"

"Same as usual. Are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine. And Jess is fine, thanks for asking."

Dean mentally kicked himself. He hadn't even said ten words and he's already riled his brother.

"Look, I just called to say that I've sent some more money your way."

"I didn't ask you to do that, Sam!" Dean growled. The money would come in handy, yes, but he was _not_ a charity case! It was bad enough that he always went crawling to Sam when he had some 'money flow problems'.

"I know, I just— Is Cas still living with you?"

"Yeah."

"I just figured that you might be running a little low, soon, so..."

"We're fine," Dean said, his stubborn streak cutting off the reluctant thanks before it reached his lips.

"You know, you never said why he was staying with you."

"I think that's _his_ business, Sam."

"How is he, anyway?"

"He's good. Better," Dean added. Which was true enough for the moment but he didn't go into specifics.

"Good."

"Yeah, it is."

"You know, I think having this friend stay with you is good for you too, Dean."

"Shut up, bitch," Dean said, thankful that he was having this conversation in private because he could feel his cheeks warming slightly.

"I mean it – you sound... I don't know. Happier, I guess. Content."

Dean grunted. But he supposed Sam was right. He _did_ like having Cas around; it was nice having someone to talk to every day.

"Dean, just please don't do anything to fuck this up, okay?"

"Quit being such a girl, Samantha."

Dean could almost hear Sam's eyes roll.

"Whatever. Look, Dean, I've got to go."

"Yeah. Go get the bad guys off, Sam."

Sam sighed. "Everybody deserves a trial, Dean," he reminded him for the umpteenth time.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbled. "Bye, Sam."

"Goodbye, Dean."

Dean tossed the phone into the passenger seat and let his head fall against the wheel. Somewhere along the line he'd fucked up, and he'd lost his little brother. He turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. He fucked everything up, and lost everyone. But he was the only person Cas had, so surely even he couldn't fuck it up bad enough to lose him.

* * *

When Dean got home Cas was watching TV when he went through to the living room, so Dean switched it off and turned to him.

"I was watching that," Cas said.

"We need to talk."

Cas sat up stiffly, then, because Dean was being unusually serious which probably meant he'd done something wrong. He quickly racked his brain for anything he'd done that could give Dean reason to be angry with him, but could think of nothing.

"Or rather, you need to talk," Dean continued, as he sat down on the coffee table in front of Cas. "About whatever's eating you."

"Nothing is 'eating' me."

"Cas, this whole thing with your dad—"

"I don't wish to discuss it," Cas said, leaning back against the sofa and hugging himself in an attempt to make himself look as small as possible. He hadn't realised how determined Dean would be to pursue the matter – as far as he'd been concerned they'd had this conversation three days ago.

"You may not want to, but I think you need to."

"You don't know me," Castiel declared stubbornly, looking at his knees. He just wanted to get up and leave, but wherever he went Dean would just follow. This was Dean's house, after all, and despite the numerous occasions on which Dean had told him to treat it as his own he still felt somewhat uncomfortable doing so. "You don't know me," he repeated, softer this time.

"That's because you won't let me! You've been here two weeks, now, and I still don't know where you come from!" A sudden realisation hits him. "Cas, I don't even know your last name."

"Milton," Castiel states quietly. "My last name is Milton."

Dean knew he'd fucked up by bluntly asking him outright as soon as he'd walked into the room, and he supposed this was why he'd avoided trying to talk to Castiel about it. He needed to try and channel some of his brother's tact and patience – something that Dean sorely lacked – and he was unsure of exactly how to get Castiel to open up to him without pushing him away even further.

"Look, do you _want_ to talk about what happened with your dad?" he tried softly.

"No."

"I'm worried about you."

"Thank you for your concern, Dean, but it is unnecessary. I am fine."

"You're not fine, Cas."

Castiel looked at Dean. He knew he wasn't fine, but talking to Dean would be a risk he wasn't willing to take. He had a roof over his head, and he didn't want to lose it.

"You're bottling everything up," Dean pressed him.

"You said I could talk to you, so if I wanted to talk I would have come to you," Castiel told him, fidgeting under Dean's piercing gaze. Lying was the least of his concerns when it came to sinning.

"Would you, Cas?"

Castiel looked at him, but then his gaze dropped to his lap.

"I didn't think so. I didn't press you because _I_ didn't want to have to talk about things. But it's not about me. So come on, dude. Unless you're a serial killer on the run from the law, I can pretty much guarantee you it's not going to change the way I see you."

Cas chewed on his lower lip. Dean seemed sincere enough, but if Castiel told him then he might ask if he was attracted to him, and he couldn't lie – not to Dean – and then Dean would get uncomfortable and ask him to leave. No.

Cas was avoiding his gaze, so he leaned forward and put his hands on the other man's knees. "I really think you need to talk about it."

Castiel's body went rigid at Dean's touch, and when he lifted his legs up onto the sofa, shuffling away, Dean took the hint. "This isn't something you can fix, Dean."

"How do you know if you don't try?" Dean fighting his instinct to regain the physical ground with Castiel and instead let him have some space. "You can't keep bottling all this up, Cas. Take it from someone who knows," he said, almost regrettably. "I mean, I bottle shit up, and look where that got me."

"Yes – a steady job, your own apartment—"

"My brother and I used to be inseparable," Dean cut through Castiel's sarcasm, "but now we barely talk. I spend my nights either getting drunk or getting laid, sometimes with a woman whose name I can't remember in the morning. Cas," Dean said, "I don't want you to end up alone. I didn't think I had a problem with the way I lived my life until you came along. My life... isn't much of a life. I don't want you to end up like me, keeping colleagues at arms length and having no friends."

Castiel furrowed his brow. "You have me," he said quickly, before thinking that maybe Dean didn't view him that way.

But Dean smiled softly. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." He hesitantly put a hand on Castiel's knee again, ready to take it away if he tensed up. He'd always been one to communicate better with actions rather than words. "I didn't realise how alone I was until I found you." Shit – that had come out wrong. It made him sound selfish. "You're a good guy, Cas, and I like having you around. Talk to me. _Please_. I'm worried about you. I just want to help."

"You have helped me, Dean."

"Not in the way that matters."

Castiel sighed again. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. He lowered his eyes to where his hands were clasped in his lap. "But, what if it's too late for that?" he asked, more to himself, before looking up at Dean and catching his eye.

"It's never too late, Cas. Trust me on that."

Castiel sat in silence for a moment, aware of Dean's gaze burning into him as he twisted the fabric of his t-shirt in his hand. "Do you think that you and Sam will ever sort out whatever bad blood there is between you?" he suddenly asked quietly.

Castiel was so focused on his t-shirt that he missed the way Dean flinched at Sam's name, something that Dean was grateful for. He swallowed the lump in his throat and spoke through gritted teeth. "You don't know what went on between me and him."

Castiel jerked his head up. "You're right I don't know what went on between you and your brother, and frankly it's none of my business; but you keep trying to tell me I can fix this but maybe it isn't broken! You wouldn't know, because you don't know what's wrong with me!"

"Damn straight I don't know what's wrong with you, Cas! Because you don't trust me enough to tell me!" Dean snapped back.

"It's not about trust, Dean!"

"Then what is it about?"

"Why don't you take a look in the mirror and ask yourself? You've got unresolved issues with your brother that I can't even _begin_ to understand. You want to talk about trust? You've made it perfectly clear that I'm not allowed to know anything about your family, but you expect me to tell you _everything_ about mine, and the way you talk about Sam it's like he _died_—" Castiel stopped abruptly at the way Dean's face hardened, afraid that he'd said too much.

They both stared at each other in silence, wary of saying the wrong thing.

"You say you're worried about me, Dean – I'm worried about you," Cas said softly, hoping to undo any potential damage he may have done with his sudden outburst.

Dean's face softened at the fearful stare Castiel was giving him, knowing that if he snapped now he'd lose what little progress he might have made so far in trying to get through to Cas. "You don't have to be, Cas."

"As you don't have to worry about me!" Castiel insisted.

"Cas, you didn't catch me about to jump off a bridge, or about to slit my wrists in the bathroom."

It was Castiel's turn to flinch, and he took a few shallow breaths. _Oh God, please don't let me cry_, he thought to himself. Men didn't cry. Men didn't cry, and men didn't like other men.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. He felt like they'd taken one step forwards and two steps back, and he's not sure exactly why. "Talk to me," Dean urged softly.

At that moment Castiel knew he had to say something, or else Dean would never let it go. "My father is religious, and rules our family with an iron fist," he started slowly. He'd need to choose his words carefully in order to tell Dean the bare minimum, and avoid raising any questions he didn't want to answer. "I wouldn't say I necessarily questioned him, but I was different from what he wanted me to be." Castiel took a deep breath. "To him that meant I was disobedient and ungrateful, and he beat me. As punishment, or as a way to reshape me into something better, I don't know. I didn't matter. I was his son, but I don't think he loved me the way he loved my brothers. I was a disappointment to him. He's probably happier without me around."

"Oh, Cas," Dean breathed, pulling him into a tight – if awkward – hug before realising that it was a bad move. He leaned back, giving Castiel space. "You don't need to change, Cas. I mean, look at you! You're selfless, and you've got the patience of a saint if you can put up with me. And," he added, mumbling slightly like he was unused to admitting his true feelings, "you matter to me."

Cas bit his lip, unsure of Dean's sentiment and how to react. Physical gestures of affection were not something that his family indulged in, and he hadn't failed to notice that Dean was more comfortable communicating through physicality rather than words; but while Dean might be able to give out hugs freely and easily, Castiel wasn't comfortable doing so. It had taken a lot for him to embrace him the other day in the department store. He lunged for Dean's hand and squeezed it, before jerking his hands back. "You matter to me, as well," he told Dean, for that much he could be completely honest about.

Dean looked at the floor as his cheeks grew warm. He liked Cas. Maybe Cas would be different and stick around. Maybe. "I guess when I took you in, I looked at you like Sam."

"I'm not Sam," Castiel stated coldly, retreating from whatever moment they had just shared. If that was the only reason for Dean's kindness then he didn't need it – it was bad enough his father wanted him to be someone else, without Dean treating him like someone else as well.

"No, I know," Dean said, leaning forward and taking one of Cas's hands in his own in an attempt to reconnect with him. "But I had to take care of him for a while, and being alone for so long maybe I just wanted someone else to look after. But you don't need looking after, Cas. You're stronger than me. I know you can move past this whole thing with your dad, so no more trying to kill yourself, okay? Please?" Dean begged.

Cas relaxed slightly, but couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped his mouth. In a twisted way, he found it funny that Dean – a damn near stranger – cared more about his wellbeing than anyone else in his family ever had, and the thought made his stomach twist. "You're a good man, Dean."

Dean's stomach clenched at the almost bitter chuckle that Cas had let out. Cas couldn't leave him. He needed him. Not to look after, but just to be there. He didn't want to be alone again. It was weak of him, and he knew he was being selfish, but there had to be a way they could make this better. There had to be. Castiel couldn't promise him, however, so perhaps Dean needed to make him believe that his life was worth living. He just didn't know how, or even if he could.

Castiel looked at Dean, the way his jaw clenched as he sat deep in thought drawing his attention to the strong line of his jaw.

No.

_No_.

Castiel's father had done his best to beat that out of him. His nibbled the inside of his lip, hoping Dean hadn't noticed the fondness with which he was looking at him.

A flicker of something flashed across Castiel's face that Dean couldn't identify, and he wished he knew what Castiel was thinking. He licked his lips, unsure if what he was about to say was the right thing or not. "If you... stick around," he started hesitantly, "where do you see your life going? I mean, what do you want to do?"

"Dean, my life has always been dedicated to serving God and helping those less fortunate than I—"

"What about yourself?"

Castiel looked at him, the gentle furrow in his brow the only indication that he didn't understand what Dean wanted or expected him to say.

"Cas, man, helping others is all very well and good, but... What about doing something for yourself once in a while?"

"You mean I should be selfish?" Castiel asked, seeking clarification.

"No, Cas, just... I guess what I'm trying to say is that your life shouldn't be solely focused on what you can do for other people. You're just as important as they are."

There was another flicker of emotion behind Castiel's eyes, though Dean couldn't put his finger on it, but then Castiel nodded in understanding and smiled sadly. "Where were you when I needed to hear that?" he asked.

"I'm here now."

* * *

Dinner was pizza, because it was simple and neither of them could be bothered cooking. The TV was really just background noise until the news came on, and they caught the main headline.

"_The father of missing the missing school girl Samina Abdul has admitted to the honour killing of his daughter. Mohammad Abdul says that her relationship with Jonathan Martin had brought shame on the family._"

Dean switched the TV off. "Poor kid," he said sadly. "Family's supposed to look after each other." As soon as the words were out of his mouth he shot a horrified look at Cas. "Sorry."

Castiel shook his head. "It's okay. I think you're right."

Dean switched the TV off and started to gather the plates together. "I'll wash, you dry, alright?"

Cas didn't answer, instead staring at the blank television screen.

"Cas?" he said softly, as he sat back again.

"I suppose I'm lucky, really," Cas said emotionlessly. "My family could have killed me, but instead they just disowned me. At least I still get to have a life."

Dean swallowed, not really sure what to say to that, but then Castiel reached into his pocket and withdrew a small tub and tossed it to him. He caught it deftly in his left hand, and frowned when he realised what it was. "This is mine," he said.

"Yes," was Castiel's single-word response.

"Where'd you get this?" he demanded roughly.

"It was in the back of the bathroom cabinet," Cas replied. "I don't know why I took it, or why I didn't put it back. I figured you didn't even know it was there."

Dean had been given the painkillers on prescription a few years ago, after a car accident he'd been in with Sam and his dad. "You were right," he said quietly. "I'd forgotten all about them." He'd been a stubborn ass and refused to take them, no matter how bad the pain got. "Have you taken any?"

Castiel's head jerked up. "What?"

"Have you taken any, Cas?"

"No."

"How many?"

"None!"

Dean nodded, seemingly satisfied with this.

"I don't think I want to die," Castiel said quietly, with the dawning realisation of someone who'd been calling black white all his life.

Dean felt all the tension he didn't even know he'd been carrying leave him in that moment. "Well, good," he said awkwardly.

Castiel looked at him. "I don't think I ever really did," he frowned, and it was like he could finally _see_ a future for himself for the first time in a long time. "I was just so lost, and so alone, that I couldn't see any other path to take." Tears fell down his cheeks. "Dean," he gasped, feeling like he couldn't breathe as it suddenly hit him that if he'd died he'd never had been able to have a second chance at everything. Dean had saved his life in more ways than one.

"Hey," Dean said, moving to sit beside Cas and wrapping an arm around him. "It's okay, Cas."

"I nearly died..."

"But you didn't," Dean told him. "You're still here. I've got you, Cas," he said, holding him tighter.

Cas let Dean manoeuvre him into his arms, too shocked at how far he'd fallen to protest, even if he'd wanted to.

"I tried to kill myself, Dean!"

"You couldn't do it in my bathroom, Cas," Dean whispered. "I don't think you could have jumped."

Castiel's fingers fisted desperately in Dean's t-shirt, crinkling the fabric. "I don't want to die," he repeated faintly.

"I know," Dean told him. "I know."

Life with Dean was so different from life with his father. "My father didn't raise me to have a life – he raised me to serve the Lord. So what do I do now?" Castiel asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I can't go back to my father, so tell me, Dean – what do I _do_?"

Dean licked his lips, and Castiel swallowed. He didn't have an answer. He'd be a hypocrite if he did. "You're going to stay here with me, Cas, and we're going to find you a job," he said eventually.


End file.
